


The 120 days

by Kuna12



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:40:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuna12/pseuds/Kuna12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Genre: AU.<br/>Disclaimer: SGA characters belong to MGM. Names and occupations of Colonel Dillion Everett and Colonel Marshall Sumner belong to MGM. OCs belong to themselves.<br/>Warnings: This is a rape story, as graphic as it could possibly be.<br/>However, all rapes described here are… metaphorical . Real male-to-male rape is extremely unaesthetic and unhygienic for both parties.<br/>Author’s notes: I am grateful to aspacer (http://aspacer.livejournal.com/) for editing this chapter.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. The Gray Cardinal

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fade to Black](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/18136) by Merlin7. 



> Genre: AU.  
> Disclaimer: SGA characters belong to MGM. Names and occupations of Colonel Dillion Everett and Colonel Marshall Sumner belong to MGM. OCs belong to themselves.  
> Warnings: This is a rape story, as graphic as it could possibly be.  
> However, all rapes described here are… metaphorical . Real male-to-male rape is extremely unaesthetic and unhygienic for both parties.  
> Author’s notes: I am grateful to aspacer (http://aspacer.livejournal.com/) for editing this chapter.

_____________________________________________________________  
“Goodness. Yeah, just plain, simple goodness. Well you can’t inherit that from anybody. You got to make it, Doc. If you want it. And you got to make it out of badness. [...] “Out of badness,” he repeated. “And you know why? _Because there isn't anything else to make it out of._ ”

Robert Penn Warren  
________________________________

 

Chapter I

The Gray Cardinal

  
  
“You’re sitting at my table.”  
  
The statement, full of guarded contempt, shook Sheppard from a stupor. He looked up – the little woman stood on the other side of the table. She was holding a book, the front cover facing carefully toward herself, finger between the pages marking the place. Her face was vaguely familiar – Sheppard had seen her before… in Carson’s lab… not in the infirmary – a scientist, not a doc.  
  
He wanted to say that no one usually claims this table, in the very corner of the mess hall, that he just wanted to stay for a while in some public place, yet away from his friends…  
  
“I’ll move.”  
  
The annoyance on the woman’s face gave way to mocking amusement.  
  
“Hm… well… since none of us is actually eating,” she gave a calculative stare to the untouched food on his tray, “it’s okay if you stay.”  
  
Then she pulled out the stool with her foot and sat on it – knees almost touching her chin, book still face-down on the table, finger marking the place.  
  
“I usually make a point to never share a dining table with sadists,” the woman continued conversationally, giving Sheppard a side-long glance.  
  
The poisonous remark stirred no action – the military man was looking at his tray, not seeing it.  
  
‘ _Now, that is pathetic_ ,’ clearly reflected on the woman’s face.  
  
“And speaking of sadists,” she continued, “does your present state of mind have anything to do with Uncle Dill?”  
  
Sheppard looked up at her.  
  
“Colonel Everett,” the woman explained, seeing his blank expression.  
  
It all was there – for a split second his face was a mixture of fear, anguish, disgust, then it went blank again.  
  
“Oh,” said the woman. “You poor thing. I should've guessed earlier.”  
  
“Why… do you call him that?” Sheppard asked indifferently.  
  
“He is a cousin of my mother. I say, in that line of the family my mom was the single sane one. I should've guessed what’s going on – I didn’t see uncle Dill that mad since… actually, since Marsh took that idiotic Atlantis assignment.” She sighed. “Colonel Sumner. They go way back – Uncle Dill and Marsh. I remember them since I was a kid. My mom was the oldest of all cousins, so she took pity on the young lieutenants, and fed them every time they were around. My dad was nice to them too… Actually, those two were the only people he could deal with.  
  
“He was cool, Marsh… used to bring me stuff… Three years ago he brought me a skull from the Middle East. Fresh one, with the bullet hole in it. I remember Uncle Dill was laughing at him ‘she is not a kid anymore!’ and he was laughing back ‘she wanted to extract DNA from the teeth!’  
  
“Then they quarreled, and Marsh went to Atlantis, and I think Uncle Dill had never forgave him for that. I came here to convince Marsh to go home.”  
  
“So, it’s personal for you too,” Sheppard sighed. “What I did makes me a bad guy. Makes me a sadist.”  
  
“No. Nothing can _make_ you a sadist. That is a genetic aberration – you have it, or you don’t. And I’m sure Marsh would approve of your choice.”  
  
“Then what?”  
  
“Then you should leave.”  
  
“Why should _I_ leave?” Sheppard felt a rage clouding his vision – something he never expected to feel again.  
  
“Because I don’t think you’re into rough sex with boys,” the woman chuckled. “On the other hand… forty years old, pretty like you, never married – that looks mighty fishy.”  
  
Sheppard wanted to break the woman’s neck, here and now, but instead he just gave her a nasty look. “What about you?”  
  
“Well… I’m five years younger, and I’m not nearly as cute as you’re. And it’s much more profitable for me to stay single. With all those military around.”  
  
“Where would I go? Wraith’re everywhere!”  
  
“Wraith-shraith… Wraith can kill you, that’s that, but Uncle Dill will take you apart. Do you really think a couple of quick fucks is all he is capable of?”  
  
“I’m not leaving.” This very moment Sheppard really believed that he’d rather die than let go of what he considered his.  
  
“Fine.” The woman shrugged. “Let me just tell you what will happen next. Had he tattooed you yet?”  
  
“ _What?_ ”  
  
“Something idiotic, like ‘ _Handle with care, this end up_ ’?”  
  
“No!”  
  
“Well… that tells me he doesn’t have _a plan_ for you. Not yet. He’s just randomly mad. It was almost a year for me since Marsh died, but for him it was… what? A week? All he wanted to do was to come here and beat the day lights out of Marsh. Now he can’t. So, the first thing he’ll do when he comes to his senses - he’ll get you arrested.”  
  
“For _what_?”  
  
“You want my guess? Insubordination.”  
  
“I didn’t disobey any of his…”  
  
“It doesn’t matter! His _entire team_ is here – he’ll say you… hit him in the face and he’ll have fifty witnesses - any time. So you’ll end up in some small room without windows and with a lock on the door. Next they’ll shoot you full of anti-shock drugs and fuck you around the clock – 48 hours or something in a row. There’re fifty of them here - they can take shifts. Then they let my sweet boss, Beckett, see you. And you’ll spend an agonizing half an hour trying to convince him that you’re treated with care and respect. Because if you don’t, you’ll end up over a counter again, with somebody’s… hm… up your ass. I don’t want to speculate what it would do to your body, but I can tell you what it would do to your mind. In couple of weeks you’ll be unable to say ‘no’. You’ll be _happy_ to service anyone.”  
  
“Over my dead body.”  
  
“Believe whatever you want. If Marsh would be around, he would lure uncle’s… affections elsewhere. But now it is not the case. The old man has vivid fantasy and a _multifaceted_ sense of humor. _There are no Wraith out there_ , who would do to you what Uncle Dill will if you’d stay. On the other hand…” she fell silent, her eyes glazed with glee. Then she shook her head, and even made small gesture with her hand as if trying to push away the picture floating in front of her eyes. “You should leave for a while. Ask your native friend where to go – she knows the terrain better than I do. Give uncle some time. He is a good man.”  
  
_Good man_? Sheppard thought of what happened in that storage room. And in Dr. Weir’s office. And in the Jumper.  
  
“He told me he will… harm Teyla.”  
  
“Nah… He is not into girls. Besides, you can take her with you.”  
  
“Who’ll let me go?”  
  
“Go and pack. And if some Marines will try to stop you, tell them, that I told them to fuck off.”  
  
_And who is ‘I’_? Then Sheppard smiled – he knew who she was, he heard that idiotic nick-name before – Wraith Doctor. And then another thought come, making him chuckle – _If a Wraith would ever need a doctor – that thing would be the best candidate_.  
  
“I don’t want some stupid accident spoiling uncle Dill’s career. It’s just plain unprofitable for me.”  
  
_Stupid accident_? Sheppard felt a blinding rage again.  
  
“Come on,” she chuckled. “You’re not pregnant. So it will be your word against his. No one ever won that sort of argument against the old man. You’ll be a laughing stock for the entire city. But if you want this story to be known,” she said and jumped on her stool. “Sorry to interrupt your meal, folks,” she announced in high, clear voice.  
  
“Shut up,” Sheppard hissed. “I’m leaving.”  
  
“Never mind.” She bowed to the people in the hall and sat down. “Gosh.” The woman smiled good-naturally and shook her head. “I should apply for the shrink position in this expedition. So go pack and come back here – I’ll walk you to the Gate.”  
  
“And he’ll listen to you.”  
  
“He knows for many years – the moment he stops listening to me I’ll _poison_ him. And you know what they say? There was no MD ever existed who could undo the harm done by a PhD,” she raised her index finger proudly. “Oh… he’ll listen. He’s not after you, he’s just mad.”  
  
With those words she opened her book and started reading. _Kenneth Grahame_ , ran on the cover. ‘ _The Wind in the Willows_ '.  
  
“Why are you still here?” Wraith Doctor asked in a second, and raised her eyes from the book.  
  
The man’s face was again a frozen mask of pain, fear, shame, disgust.  
  
***  
  
Sheppard got to his feet. “Sir.”  
  
“At ease, Major.”  
  
The woman didn’t look at the newcomer, she just listened to approaching quiet steps, then turned her head slightly, tilting it to one side.  
  
“Uncle.”  
  
Colonel Everett bent over her shoulder and briefly touched her cheek-bone with his lips.  
  
“Kitten,” he said in mockingly upset voice. “You’re losing your standards.”  
  
“We’re not _dining_. So this is not a _dining table_ ,” she stated sternly and added for Sheppard, “Sit down.”  
  
“Of course.” The colonel bowed slightly, then took a chair and placed it back first, clearly marking a foot or so between the chair and the table. Then he sat down, placed his elbows on the chair’s back and propped his chin on his palms.  
  
“Are you deaf?” Everett looked at Sheppard who was still standing. “Sit down and be real quiet, that’s an order. Or are you _too sore_ to sit?” he added and gave the woman a sidelong glance. “I can only imagine, Kitten, what that insubordinate whore has been telling you.” The colonel looked at Sheppard again and smiled at the pure hatred in the other man’s eyes.  
  
“Nothing _unusual_ , I may assure you,” the woman said with annoyance. “And it was me who did most of the talking. He is leaving.”  
  
“No, he’s not,” Everett replied. “We just started to have fun. Why?”  
  
“Because I don’t want you to get involved into some extracurricular fucking project!” the woman snapped. “I don’t care about you as a person, but…”  
  
Sheppard couldn’t believe his eyes – Colonel Everett gave him a wink and rolled his eyes - ‘ _here she goes again._ ’  
  
The woman noticed and tried to suppress a smile. “All right. You got me – I do care about you. But I want you to concentrate on your job. Which is to keep Weir and my sweet boss off my back, while I’m trying to solve the Wraith problem.”  
  
“Done and done.” The colonel saluted with two fingers, keeping a straight face. “Oh… Please tell me he is not _family._ ”  
  
The woman looked at her uncle directly for the first time. “Don’t be _daft_.”  
  
“Oh, good.” Everett placed one hand over his chest in feigned relief. “You got me all scared for a second.”  
  
“Why?” the woman said in half-voice, opening her book again. “Like we never shared a guy before.”  
  
“That thing is not a _guy_. That thing is an arrogant, insubordinate, pathetic _whore._ ”  
  
‘ _I’ll kill him_ ,’ thought Sheppard. ‘ _Doesn’t matter what’ll happen to me – I’ll kill that bastard with my bare hands_ ’.  
  
“Please.” The woman made a face.  
  
“Why, Kitten? The other night you were calling him nothing but Nazi. In half of the cases I couldn’t make out whom do you mean – that fuck sucker or your boss. What changed?”  
  
“You wouldn’t understand.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because you’re a sadist, and I am a person. And there is a difference between _sadists_ and _people_.”  
  
“Come on.”  
  
“And that is the exact reason,” the woman continued in same annoyed voice, “why my dad always fed you on the porch, like a dog, and only Marsh could go in the house.”  
  
“Right,” the colonel said, smiling happily. “Sir Ivan just had some weird affection for Marsh. Thought him to be some pet, _parrot_ or something. ‘Marshall _dear_ ,’ Everett imitated a fragile voice of an old man. ‘I got some cookies for you! Your favorite, with nuts.’”  
  
The woman turned her face away, trying to hide a smile.  
  
“ _Cookies with nuts,_ ” the man snorted. “Poor Marsh always had a bad stomach for sugars and starch. Why do you think all my boys call hangover a ‘nut cookie syndrome’?”  
  
“Not true,” said the woman. “Dad thought Marsh _intelligent_. He spent hours, trying to explain him the engineering projects he’d been working on.”  
  
Everett shook his head dismissively. “Much good it did _that_ Einstein.”  
  
Sheppard didn’t know why he was still listening to those nutcases. Maybe it was because he thought that the longer he stays here, in public place, the longer it will be before Everett can corner him in some empty corridor, storage room, or office. But it was getting too...  
  
“May I be excused, sir?” John said, getting to his feet.  
  
“Sit down,” the woman moaned in tired voice. “I’m trying to save your _ass_ from the continuation of a very unpleasant experience. You’re not exactly my favorite, so I need to see your upset face to remember what I am talking about. Though I think somebody should've fucked you _a long time ago_.”  
  
“Fuck you.” Sheppard was still standing.  
  
Everett hid his face in his hands. “I’m losing my touch,” he muttered. “Kitten, let me take him away for half an hour – he’ll be all _nice_ and _silky_.”  
  
“No,” said the woman. “It took me half an hour to pull the first normal reaction out of him. Besides, it’s a marvelous idea. Did I see Tilly the other day, uncle? Had you really brought him here?”  
  
“Tilly is a brainless fuck.” It was clear that the colonel was pleased that she noticed his present.  
  
“That’s all I need right now. So, sign Tilly from an active duty tonight and send him to my quarters. All I need now is to relax. Because when the poor little scientist is trying to relax here, to sit in peace for a while, to read some kid’s book, she ends up in the middle of the Universal debate ‘ _who is personally responsible for the fact that life sucks?_ ’ No one. It’s just a general quality of life. Sit down, you imbecile! Oh, why am _I_ not asking why _I’m_ in the middle of this mess?” she continued after the major finally sat down. “One of you puts his long nose where it doesn’t belong, and the other can’t keep his private parts to himself – and voila! I’m here! In the middle of the culling! Yes,” the woman looked at her uncle, “Marsh found out about the Navy campus.”  
  
“But that was just...”  
  
“A casual fuck? I know. But how many times Marsh had told you that your… adventures upset him? So you can’t blame the Wraith for his death. Or him,” Wraith Doctor pointed at Sheppard with her chin. “The only one, who is responsible for his death, is _you_.”  
  
And Sheppard saw for the first time some human emotion crossed the face of the old Marine – pain, or guilt, or regret.  
  
The woman gave her uncle a side-long glance. “I’m sorry,” she said, touching his sleeve. “It wasn’t you. It was just stupid fate.”  
  
“You’re _my_ family,” Everett said quietly. “But you’re so much like _him_.”  
  
Wraith Doctor smiled softly. “Let the boy go.”  
  
“No. You don’t know those pretty whores like I do. In a week he’ll be asking for more. I am actually doing him a favor.”  
  
At that Sheppard just lost it. The time stopped for a second, then jumped ahead with double speed. He saw himself flying across the table, then his fist connected with the colonel’s face, splitting the skin on his cheek almost to the bone. Somehow the major knew that the Marine could soften the blow, or avoid it completely, but he didn’t. He just fell backwards together with his chair, a meditative smile on his face.  
  
In the total silence of the mess hall the snap of the closed book sounded like a shot.  
  
“I don’t have time for this shit,” said the woman, getting to her feet. “I guess you can’t fuck a _brain_ into somebody. That goes for both of you.”  
  
With those words she turned around and left the mess hall without ever looking back.


	2. The Good Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very grateful to an_kayoh for editing this chapter

Chapter II

The Good Man

________________________________________________________________

"My God, you talk like Byram was a human. He’s a thing! You don’t prosecute an adding machine if spring goes bust and makes a mistake. You fix it."  
Robert Penn Warren  
_________  
_________________________________________________________________

“Might not be a bad idea. Maybe it _is_ time to take this interrogation to the next level.”  
John Sheppard

_________

  
  
  
Sheppard remembered yelling some incoherent threats, struggling against the arms holding him, then cuffs and a glassful of water, thrown in his face to calm him down. And through all that – the calm, satisfied eyes of Colonel Everett, his almost meditative smile.  
  
***  
  
This wasn’t the brig. Perhaps in ancient times it was somebody’s quarters – suite of rooms - door, after door, after door. The last room they brought him in was no larger than walk-in closet. Probably a former dressing room, adjacent to the bathroom.   
  
"Hey, what about the cuffs?"  
  
"You _must be_ kidding," said the Marine and the door rolled shut.  
  
There was something strange about it, Sheppard thought. Then he got it – there was no familiar ‘whoosh’ sound of Atlantis door, just rough rattle of the rollers. The door was dead, disconnected from the City systems.   
  
Sheppard touched it, wincing at necessity to use both his cuffed hands. _They’d replaced the door_. That somehow made it worse.  
  
***  
  
Beckett looked at the prisoner, who was sitting on the other side of the interrogation table.  
  
"Carson, I’m fine."   
  
Sheppard really believed that. The guards haven’t given him that long-promised ‘48 hour job.’ Not yet. He just had a few more _sessions_ with Everett – long, painful and humiliating, some of them happened at… _on_ this very table. Sheppard remembered the side of the table cutting at his thighs, thick piston of Everett’s cock moving in his aching ass, taste of blood, helplessness and humiliation… ‘One more moan and I will call somebody to fuck your mouth while I’m working on your rear. Or you prefer a gag?’  
  
But he could live with that. Yes, he felt dirty inside and out, weak and violated, but… what good would it do if he told Carson? _‘You know, Doc, that damned CO of mine fucked me for two weeks in a row._ ’ What would it change? Would Everett take the cuffs off him? No. Would his fuck get smaller? No…  
  
The major bit his lip, thinking of how _routine_ Everett’s visits had become. The Marines acted like a well-oiled mechanism. Re-cuff the prisoner’s hands behind his back, yank down his pants and boxers, shove him on his knees in front of the cot, or face-down on the interrogation table. Ready to use, like instant coffee. If the prisoner is acting out, hit him on the head with a gun butt. If the prisoner is trying to scream or swear, push his face into a pillow, until he’s thinking only about how to get a next breath and doesn’t care anymore about what is going on in his ass.  
  
He felt too sore to sit, too tired, he just wanted this conversation to be over, to go and lie down on his cot until the next _educational_ visit from his CO.  
  
"You don’t look fine to me." Carson glanced at the major’s sunken face, at the black shadows around his eye’s. "Let me examine you."  
  
"No!"  
  
The doctor was surprised by the fear and anger in Sheppard’s voice.  
  
"No," the major repeated softly and gave Beckett a pale smile. "Please… I don’t like exams, you know. And I’m under enough stress right now, so please have pity on me. May be some other time."   
  
"At least let me check your pulse. Give me your hand."  
  
Sheppard sighed and put his cuffed hands on the table. Handcuffs were heavy-duty police stuff, locked too tightly to be anything but uncomfortable. The doctor was afraid to touch John’s wrist, so bruised and abraded the skin was.  
  
"Do they keep you cuffed all the time?" Beckett asked angrily.  
  
"Of course not!" The major laughed at ridiculousness of the question. "It’s just a precaution. It’s a normal procedure – when military officer starts acting weird, and hits his CO in the face out of a blue, and beats the crap out of two military guards, then tries to break handcuffs, he’s usually considered a high-risk prisoner. They don’t like to let people like that meet one-on-one with civilians. If I were in charge, I wouldn’t allow you to see me unless I was fully strapped to a bed." Sheppard kept laughing, but his eyes were like eyes of wounded animal – full of pain and despair.  
  
"Why did you hit him?" Beckett pulled back without checking the pulse – _much good that would do him_ , he thought.  
  
"Carson, please… it’s too humiliating." The major was still smiling.  
  
"And yet. It’s not like you at all."  
  
"You wouldn’t understand."  
  
"Try me."  
  
Sheppard sighed and leaned back in his chair, taking his cuffed hands from the table.   
  
"I was God. I was God of this City – my opinion was everything. My word was final. I could afford to be arrogant and reckless, I could get pissed at anyone, and everyone had to go after me _‘oh, Sheppard this, oh, Sheppard that’_ ," he said in mocking, nasty voice. "The power... it’s like a drug addiction – _it’s never enough_. The truth is, Carson, that I’m _nobody_. I’m just a pathetic little…" he almost said ‘whore,’ but stopped himself just in time.   
  
All those words, all those thoughts that felt so right when he mouthed them - were the words of Everett. Every time the colonel fucked him, there was a lecture. And the same way Sheppard couldn’t escape the 'sessions', or wash off the colonel’s faint smell from his skin, he couldn’t get rid of Everett’s words, branded into his brain.  
  
"It’s not true, John," Carson said softly.  
  
The major hid his face in his hands, then looked at the doctor through the fingers.  
  
"Carson, please. The sooner you let me go, the sooner they take the damned cuffs off."  
  
 _‘Ha. Ha-ha. Ha-ha-ha,’_ said nasty little voice in his head.  
  
***  
  
Everett stepped toward him. "Somebody was such a good boy today."  
  
John backed off until his cuffed hands touched the wall, his wary eyes on his CO. He felt a cold creeping from somewhere around his stomach. Maybe it was because he was not allowed to have anything to wear besides a pair of pants. Everett joked that for somebody who wore handcuffs around the clock it was a real advantage – he could use the shower anytime he wanted.  
  
"You can’t escape, so accept it and don’t spoil everything with insubordination."   
  
Now Everett was a half-step away. John felt a huge desire to shove his knee into the man’s groin, and realized that his torturer was expecting it, waiting for it, to be exact. _‘Do it, my pretty boy,_ ’ the colonel’s cold eyes were saying. _‘You do just that, and you’re for a 48 hour bumpy ride.’_  
  
"I thought so," said Everett, smiling. "You little coward." He unzipped the major’s pants and pushed a hand into his boxers. "Don’t you dare to look aside." Apparently the colonel knew some trick – Sheppard’s body reacted on its own accord, and the major draw a sharp breath as his cock hardened in the Everett’s hand. The colonel squeezed the balls, making Sheppard close his eyes, then his hand moved deeper between Sheppard’s thighs.   
  
"Spread your legs."  
  
"Or what?" Sheppard heard how stupid that sounded. He was handcuffed, locked up in the small room with professional sadist who was _literally_ holding his balls in his hand, and about to be fucked. Again.   
  
"Or I will shove a beer-bottle all the way up your ass."  
  
A cold humor in the colonel’s eyes told Sheppard that the bottle-thing was not a joke. For couple more seconds he tried to hold on to the shreds of his attitude, then spread his legs. The broad palm of his CO moved between his thighs, and two thick fingers entered the opening. Those fingers moved about, then Everett almost pulled them out, waited for a second, evil smile on his face, and shoved his entire palm in. Unexpected sharp pain made Sheppard cry out, he hit the wall with the back of his head and tried to press his thighs together.  
  
"All that fucking stretch you out a bit? Two weeks ago you would faint if I did that." Everett gave a short humorless laugh, moving his fingers inside of Sheppard’s ass. "And today – look at you! The beer-bottle would fit right in. So spread your legs, and look me in the eyes, if you don’t want your ass to make an acquaintance with some thick mechanical object."   
  
Sheppard spread his legs again, allowing his CO stretch his opening and play with his genitals. He felt his entire body shaking. He wasn’t angry, or scared, he didn’t have a name for that _fatigue_ that wrapped itself around his brain and clouded his vision.  
  
"Just fuck me and get it over with," Sheppard whispered, looking at his torturer as if across a ravine.  
  
"Right," Everett growled, his stare is cold and calculating. "You’re almost catatonic already. And we want you to feel everything, don’t we?" With those words the colonel pulled small disposable syringe from his chest pocket, removed the cap from the needle and shot the contents into Sheppard’s shoulder.   
  
"What is… Oh, shit!" Sheppard gasped when the icy wave hit his brain. "That stuff is illegal!"  
  
"The cuffs are made of steel, so pulling on them wouldn’t free your hands, it’ll just take the skin off your wrists again. How many times shall I repeat that?" Everett said with mild reproach. Then he pulled Sheppard’s pants and boxers down and ordered: "Go and lie down. On your back." The major tried to obey and almost fell over, stepping out of his pants. The stuff his CO had injected him with made the world around him crystal clear: he could see every dust particle in the air, could hear the colonel’s soft breathing and his steady heartbeat, could feel every ache in his own battered body.  
  
John wanted to squeeze his hard, throbbing cock between his thighs, but Everett was already on him: "Spread them wide, boy!" Then the colonel unzipped his own pants, hauled Sheppard’s butt on his knees and pushed the blanket under the small of his back. Next John felt a pressure against his opening and heard a small sickening noise as the colonel’s cock entered his body. Everett must have been a magician – he fucked Sheppard a dozen times already, but every time it felt like the first. John’s wide-stretched ass exploded with pain, he jerked his legs in helpless attempt to get rid of thick hardness tearing his flesh.   
  
"Steady, boy." The colonel slapped Sheppard’s thighs, then made a powerful thrust forward, making sure that his cock was inserted all the way. "Well, before we started, I wanted to ask you something," he continued thoughtfully, looking Sheppard right in the eyes. "In this situation you have a lot of… leeway. It takes a conscious decision to allow me to fuck you. And I should warn you – today it will be a very _long_ trip. I feel inspired, and want to tell you a story or two. If you don’t want to be responsible for such decision – let me take that responsibility from you. I’ll tie your ankles to the bed-frame above your head. Another warning – fucking in _that_ position is little bit more painful. I saw a guy twice your size and trice your attitude crying like a baby after being fucked like that… well… roughly and almost all day round. So, it’s your call – decide now, for I don’t like interruptions."  
  
 _‘It is not happening,’_ sang little voice in Sheppard’s head, but his ass and his aching cock told him otherwise. John thought that those prehistoric guys executed by impalement must have felt the same.  
  
"Just do it," he whispered.   
  
"As you wish." Everett smiled, pulled his cock almost all way out and shoved it back in, making Sheppard gasp.   
  
***  
  
John knew – he had never been fucked for that long before. A couple of times Sheppard had tried to protest, but every time he got slapped, and fucked faster and harder for couple of minutes, the powerful thrusts extracting the helpless uncontrollable _ah... ah... ah..._ out of him.  
  
Every time John ejaculated, Everett massaged him back to hardness – and now it was sixth or seventh time. The colonel got couple releases himself, but his cock didn’t loose its hardness, it was rhythmically moving in and out of Sheppard’s ass, rocking his body. Worst of all, John had to look at the face of the very man who was doing it to him. Before he had always been held face-down.  
  
"You stupid son of a bitch," he moaned, "You’re gonna kill me with this."  
  
"Nah." The colonel smiled. He wasn’t even short of breath. "It has only been six hours."  
  
"Six hours!" Sheppard started to jerk only to find himself impaled with the colonel’s cock again. "Stop it! That’s enough!"  
  
"It will be enough when I say so," Everett noted calmly. "I want you to get one thing: _nothing you’ll do or say will remove my cock from your ass._ So relax, and let me do my job."  
  
John felt that the colonel’s cock was moving again – in and out, in and out. At this point he would beg. He would… But what would it change?  
  
 _‘Nothing,’_ said little voice in his head.  
  
"Oh, I almost forgot," Everett continued conversationally. "Let me tell you the story about a beer-bottle.  
  
"Once there was a guy who had a lot of attitude. He was so incredibly cocky, that I finally decided to put an end to it. I invited him hunting, but instead of going out and killing some innocent animal, I tied him up, shoved a tennis-ball into his mouth, and made him sit on well-oiled beer-bottle. The thing about a beer-bottle - it’s not _too_ thick. It won’t _tear_ you right away, like, say, a champagne bottle. A beer bottle will go deep and keep you well stretched – very unpleasant, but it won’t kill you if you don’t move. So I put that guy with the bottle in his ass into the chair and tied him to it, so he had some leeway to lift his ass from the sit. Just enough for him to push that bottle half-way out. Half of a bottle in your ass still keeps you well stretched, but since it’s not that deep it feels much easier. Very tempting… Thing is – you can’t keep your ass up forever. Your body gets tired, and you need to sit, which shoves the bottle right where it was – into the depths of your ass. Couple of hours in such chair can make a guy with attitude utterly insane. That guy had _a lot_ of attitude. He fucked himself with that bottle until he bled. When I came back in couple hours he was still trying to get rid of it. So I let him work on it overnight, and by the morning he was sitting tight – he finally got the trick. After that I never had any problem with him."  
  
The drug that was keeping Sheppard awake finally wore off, and he fainted with Everett’s cock still moving in his ass.  
  
When John woke up, he found himself on his cot, naked as he was during the "procedure", with his hands cuffed in front of him.   
  
He crawled to the shower, turned the water on and slept on the floor, letting the water run over his body.  
  
***  
  
It was a nightmare. He was at the bottom of the ocean, a mile of water above him pressing him down, unable to breathe…  
  
He woke up to find no air around him. He tried to move, but his hands were cuffed behind his back again, he was on his knees in front of his cot and strong hands were pressing his body down. He struggled, but that just made his ears ring from suffocation. Those bastards that were holding him down wrapped a blanket around his head, cutting the air. He felt the needle sting, and the world went into the icy clearness again.  
  
‘ _I’ll suffocate, you morons_ ,’ Sheppard thought, powerless to do anything about it.   
  
Two men shoved their boots between his knees, making him spread his legs, then he felt the pressure against his opening, and the hard cock slid in his ass, stretching it wide. The very moment it happened he knew it was _not_ Everett - this cock was somewhat thinner, but much longer than the colonel’s. That scared a living hell out of Sheppard, he moaned and started to jerk again.  
  
"Let him breathe a little," said one of the men, and somebody pulled on the blanket, just enough to let some air in.  
  
***  
  
John had never been fucked that hard and fast for so long. The manner his CO used to teach him a lesson, and only for a few minutes, was applied in full force for more than an hour. Sheppard bit the blanket in order to keep from screaming. He wasn’t even ashamed anymore. He was in so much pain he couldn’t feel anything else.   
  
"Fuck yes!" said the man finally and pulled out of Sheppard’s ass, leaving him breathless. John felt the wetness running down his thighs and felt sick, but he hadn’t eaten anything for a while, he just didn’t have anything inside to be sick _with_.  
  
His guests didn’t let Sheppard meditate over his experience for long – they switched places, and another cock was pushed into his body, making him cry out. This next man was a lazy fucker, but what he lacked in agility he compensated by the size. He mostly did what John called impeding – pushed his gigantic cock all the way in, and kept it that way for minutes in a row. The every move of that thing was an explosion of pain, so when the man finally started fucking him, John couldn’t help it but cry out with every slow and powerful thrust. It felt like a thick log of dry wood moving in and out of his ass.   
  
"Oh, tell me that is not lube," Sheppard heard when his ass was free again. The man number one was speaking.  
  
"I want him to beg for more." That was the man number three, who hadn’t spoken before.  
  
"You can send him to heaven, but that stubborn bustard would never admit it," the guy number one chuckled.  
  
"Fifty bucks."  
  
"Deal. You’ll lose, Tilly."  
  
"Will see… We need to let him breathe, or he’ll suffocate during the _real_ thing," the third man spoke softly.  
  
The blanket was pulled off the John’s head, but before he could see his torturers, a piece of cloth was wrapped around his face, covering his eyes, and tied up at the back of his head – the man’s T-shirt by the smell of it.  
  
Another cock entered the Sheppard’s body. His ass was so sore by now, he felt a sharp pain again, and he was in pain when the man started to fuck him gently. Then something happened – his own cock twitched and went hard, the man was fucking him faster and faster, John felt like he was about to suffocate, even if nothing was covering his nose and mouth anymore. His breaths were raw and uneven like sobs, he felt sweat trickling down his sides, then jolt of unimaginable animal pleasure shot through his body. He whimpered and bit the bed-sheet.   
  
His head was pulled up by the hair, and the bed-sheet yanked from his teeth.  
  
"Please," Sheppard whispered, "please…"  
  
"Please stop, or please more?" That was a voice of the man number one.  
  
John hesitated for a second, then his head was shoved face down into the cot.  
  
"Tilly, you bastard," said the man number one. "That counts. Give me that lube of yours, I want to try."  
  
One cock was pulled out Sheppard’s ass and another was shoved in. _‘The second time! It’s not fair!’_ John wanted to scream, but didn’t, thinking, as the man number one fucked him fast and hard, _‘was that fair the first time?’_  
  
During that night the guys continued to switch places, trying various techniques, so Sheppard finally lost count of how many times he had been fucked, and fainted again with a cock still in his ass.  
  
***  
  
He woke up to all familiar feeling – hard and thick cock moving inside of him. He was still on his knees in front of his cot, with his hands cuffed behind his back – the position yesterday guys left him in. His knees hurt almost as bad as his ass.  
  
Sheppard knew right away that this time it was Everett. And the colonel immediately sensed that the prisoner was awake: John felt the piston in his ass moving faster and faster, reaching deeper and deeper, extracting pathetic _ah… ah… ah…_ from his throat with every thrust. When the pain became unbearable, Sheppard tried to jerk, to pull away, but two strong hands held his hips at place.   
  
"You son of a bitch!" John screamed finally. "What do you want?"  
  
He got no reply. The colonel fucked him very hard for a while, then slowed down a little. John couldn’t struggle anymore, he was too weak, too tired. "What do you want?" he whispered.  
  
"So you like lubed cocks?" Everett asked with contempt.  
  
John bit his lip to hold back a moan. "I don’t… like… _any…_ cocks…"  
  
"Don’t lie to me, boy, when my lie-detector is in your ass," the colonel smirked. "I guess it’s the time to clean your lying mouth. But not right now. Weir wants to see you in an hour."  
  
Sheppard gasped as the fucking became unbearably hard again. Everett worked half an hour longer, then stopped, his cock deep in Sheppard’s ass. "So, try to convince her that you don’t want any visitors. As I told you before, I don’t like _interruptions._ "   
  
With these words he pulled out, making Sheppard yelp, and unlocked the cuffs.  
  
***  
  
"John, you don’t look so good."  
  
That was true. The man looked as if he had spent the last month in a concentration camp. Too skinny, too… tired? The sparkle that Elizabeth always saw in him wasn’t there anymore. He was clean shaven, but his overgrown hair, still wet from the shower, was hanging in limp black strands over his ears and forehead.   
  
"I’m bored to death," Sheppard smiled.   
  
He felt too sore to sit, so he was leaning against the wall, his arms folded in front of his chest. John was grateful that the colonel left a long sleeved jacket for him to put on, to cover his wrists.   
  
"Are you sure that’s all?" Dr. Weir asked. "I can ask Carson…"  
  
"No!" Sheppard knew he answered too fast.   
  
"John, what’s wrong?"  
  
Oh, this was unbearable. _Do you know, Elizabeth, how does it feel to be fucked day and night? I doubt you do_. Every move of Everett’s cock in his ass was still there.  
  
"I was locked in a small room for more than a month," Sheppard shrugged and thought: _With a very interesting company too._  
  
"Why wouldn’t they let you go?"  
  
 _Because fucking me is more entertaining than seeing me roaming around?_   
  
Sheppard sighed again. "You don’t understand, Elizabeth. My situation is very serious. Atlantis is considered to be a zone of active military operations. If Colonel Everett had put a bullet through my head when I hit him, he would have been within his rights. Fortunately, he’s a big enough man…"  
  
 _Sheppard felt a pressure against his opening, then tip of the colonel’s cock entered his ass, stopped, then continued its progress in discrete pushes, deeper, and deeper, and deeper…_ John made a small sound and moved his thighs, like he always did when he felt that the colonel went all the way through.  
  
"Are you all right?" Elizabeth was looking at him.  
  
"Yes," said Sheppard. "He’s a Marine, you know. He was shot a few times. He didn’t want to take my life away because of couple stitches on his jaw. He’s a good man…"   
  
_Thick cock slid into his ass slowly then started to move back and forth, faster, faster, ah… ah… ah…_  
  
"He’s not going to press charges. He could have sent me to Earth, for court–martial. I don’t have a clean record, Elizabeth. So it would be Article 90 – striking superior commissioned officer in the execution of office. Confinement for ten years. Eleven if they’d decide to throw Article 95 in. For resisting apprehension. Now I have 120 days in brig, couple of months on parole and no black mark on my record. Please, don’t take that chance from me."   
  
Sheppard saw Everett’s face, his content, confident smile. _‘And Article 125, part 1 for you, buddy,’_ John thought. _‘Life in prison, if you’re lucky.’_ And heard the colonel’s laughter: _‘Seems more like 134–1 for me – abusing public animal’._  
  
"I don’t understand, John," said Dr. Weir.  
  
"Everett thinks that you… that I’m your favorite. We both know that’s a bull. You wouldn’t go ahead and get me a promotion over the heads of my superiors, just because you’re… on friendly terms with the president?"  
  
 _‘Would I?’_ Dr. Weir thought.   
  
"No." Sheppard continued. "But Everett believes so. I want you to do me a favor – don’t come visit me." He glanced at her and looked down again. "Ask everybody not to come. Oh, I miss all of you too, but please… Would you do that for me?"  
  
He looked so defenseless at the moment, so desperate. Elizabeth wanted to hug him, just for a comfort, nothing more, and saw how he moved away. It was a very small motion, barely half a step – but away, to put the table between them.  
  
***  
  
Sheppard was lying, stomach down, on the interrogation table, and two Marines were fucking him hard – one cock in his ass and one in his mouth.   
  
When Weir had left, the guards stripped him naked, handcuffed and blindfolded him, injected him with the anti-shock drug and threw him on the table.  
  
"What’re you trying to do? To break my neck?" Sheppard struggled to pull his head free.   
  
"If you try to bite down, I’ll shove a bottle in your ass and break it. Do you understand?" said Everett, who was holding his head by the hair.  
  
Sheppard hissed, "Yes," and the procedure had begun.   
  
It was seven hours ago. He had admitted that he liked lubed cocks during the first hour of torture, but Everett wanted some other truth. John couldn’t talk because of the manhood stuffed in his mouth, he could only cough or moan in pain. Marines took turns every half an hour, ‘faster and harder’ was Everett’s order.   
  
Sheppard felt he was losing his mind. It was just… too much. What did he _like_ about this experience? What sort of question was that? He could easily tell what he didn’t like – a cock in his mouth. Gagging, suffocating, making him cough violently. As for the cock in his ass… Not lubed, thick, moving way too fast to give anything but pain…  
  
 _Nothing you’ll do or say will remove that cock from your ass_.  
  
That was it. _Helplessness._ He _liked_ it. Not the experience itself, but the fact that there was nothing he could do to prevent it.   
  
During those few moments when one cock was pulled out of his mouth and the next one shoved in, John managed to cough out the truth he discovered.  
  
"Finally," Everett chuckled. "Fuck him, boys, and fuck him hard. Next time that stupid whore will think faster."  
  
Sheppard tried to swear, scream around the live gag in his mouth, and struggled like wild beast.  
  
Two hours later he was still lying on that table, quiet, two Marines fucking him hard – one cock in his ass and one in his mouth.  
  
***  
  
"That was a tricky one," Everett admitted, standing over the prisoner’s cot. "I might have been a bit too hard on you. May be you weren’t acting out after all. May be you didn’t know yourself."  
  
Sheppard didn’t look at him. He was curled on his side, his unseeing eyes staring into space. Then something hit the blanket in front of his face – a tube of some cream. John looked at it then up at his CO.  
  
"For your ass," the colonel explained. "Beckett gave it to me."  
  
 _’What?’_ was written on John’s face as he thought of how exactly the colonel could have explained his request. _‘You know, Doc, that bastard was acting out, so we tried to straighten him out a bit, and, well, now his ass needs a medical attention.’_  
  
"Don’t be a moron," Everett apparently guessed his thought. "I got it for myself. I am an old man, I have a hemorrhoid problem. Well, that means no fucking for you for a couple of days. But we’ll figure out something interesting to do, don’t you worry."  
  
***  
  
And indeed they did. Two guards stripped Sheppard of his pants, pushed him on to his back and cuffed his hands to the bed frame above his head. Then they spread his legs wide and tied his ankles to the legs of the bed. Two injections followed – one icy-familiar anti-shock drug, and another one.  
  
One of the Marines put an alarm clock on the floor of the cell: "Ten hours, mark my words," then both of them left the room.  
  
For a couple of minutes nothing happened, then Sheppard felt a pressure at his groin. His cock twitched and went hard, his balls tensed, a hot wave spreading from his genitals throughout his body. John’s first reaction was to squeeze the cock between his thighs, but tied up as he was, the only thing he could do is to rock his body side-to-side a little.   
Tension and pressure grew with every minute, Sheppard felt a pulsing pain in his cock, swollen with volcanic erection, fury and desire to fuck somebody that very moment. There was nothing he could do for relief - he could trash about, pull on his ties or scream every dirty word he knew – nothing would calm down the rebellious part of his body, unless he could fuck somebody or somebody fucked him.   
  
He looked at the alarm-clock on the floor – less than two hours had passed from when he had been injected with the aphrodisiac.   
  
His wild screams finally annoyed the guards, and Sheppard spent the next seven hours of torture with thick rubber plug, shoved deep into his throat. When his cock finally got soft, and Marines pulled the gag from his mouth and untied him, the only thing he could do was to curl into himself, cupping his aching genitals in his cuffed hands, sobbing quietly.  
  
***  
  
They let him rest for mere five hours, and another round of torture had begun. All was the same, only this time they gagged him from the start.  
  
In couple of hours John was unable to think about anything but shoving his throbbing cock into somebody’s ass.   
  
_The man bent over the table, his hands tied behind his back, his pants pulled down from his butt. John grabs his hips, lines himself against the man’s opening, then gives it a push, inserting the head of his cock past the first line of defense. The man tenses, then screams out as Sheppard’s cock forces its way deeper into his ass. Then John starts to fuck him, slow at first, then faster and faster…  
  
Moans and screams finally annoy Sheppard, so he shoves his cock into the man’s mouth. The guy has probably been fucked before, so he doesn’t dare to bite down, he just coughs, tries to spit the cock, and screams around it, unable to tolerate the pain the cock in his ass gives him.   
  
Quite a long time passes before Sheppard realizes that the man he fucks so violently, ass and mouth, is himself…_  
  
***  
  
"Please," John whispered, looking pleadingly at his guards. "That stuff drives me nuts…"  
  
"Wish we’d fuck you instead?" the guard chuckled, pushing the rubber gag deep into John’s mouth. "Oh, I don’t like the stuff myself. I’m just carrying out my orders, nothing personal."  
  
***  
  
How John survived those couple days, while his ass was unfit for duty, he didn’t know. Then the Marines began to fuck him as usual.   
  
Sheppard didn’t dare to lie, when Everett was in his ass next time, and admitted that return to the ‘normal’ procedures was a relief. The old man laughed and slapped John’s butt.  
  
***  
  
The Marines always did something to surprise him. They invented new rules, lured the prisoner into their comforting stability, then broke them.  
  
The lights in John’s cell always stayed on, so when the Marines fucked him he considered it night, and when he received the first bowl of oatmeal – morning. After the second bowl of the oatmeal (evening) he started to wait for the next fucking session…  
  
Then one day the guards came after him in the morning. Sheppard screamed and fought his torturers, not because of the fact that his ass was stretched again outraged him, but that the routine had been broken.   
  
Since that day Marines fed and fucked him randomly, without any schedules.  
  
John couldn’t tell his dreams and reality apart anymore. He fell asleep while being fucked, and woke up with somebody’s cock moving in his ass, and dreamed wild, multicolored dreams full of physiologically impossible perversions.  
  
***  
  
"You must be insane," said Everett, "to want to be fucked by schedule. That’s just plain ridiculous. Don’t you think that the new regime is easier on your brain?"  
  
Sheppard was silent for a while, feeling how the colonel’s cock moving inside him.  
  
"Yes," he admitted eventually. "That evening waiting was a pure torture."  
  
***  
  
Sheppard, naked and blindfolded, was lying face down on the interrogation table. As always. But today his guards made him put his cuffed hands behind his head then tied up his elbows, so his forearms formed a yoke around his neck. It wasn’t particularly painful, but it was _new_ , and John didn’t like it a bit.   
  
He recognized that log of dry wood pushed into his body at once.  
  
"It’s time for you to get your tattoo," said the owner of giant cock. "Keep still, before you tear yourself," he added as Sheppard jerked violently to get away.  
  
***  
  
"Nice," said Everett, looking at the sketch of the future tattoo, drawn on the small of the prisoners back.   
  
Sheppard was quiet now, struggling with that thing inserted in his ass gave him nothing but pain.  
  
"Well, time to make yourself useful, boy." With those words the colonel unzipped his pants and stood in front of the table, the bulbous tip of his cock almost touching Sheppard’s nose. "Open your mouth."  
  
John locked his jaws. _No way. Not by my own free will…_  
  
"Stupid," Everett commented and added to the Marine, "Fuck him."  
  
"I’ll tear him," a hesitation was in Marine’s voice. "He is still too tight."  
  
"Bullshit," said Everett. "After all that fucking. He’ll live."  
  
The pain exploded in Sheppard’s ass as the giant cock started to move back and forth with growing speed and amplitude. After couple of minutes of biting on his lip John forgot about his pride and started to cry out with every thrust, then opened his mouth wide.  
  
Sheppard expected that the colonel would fuck him as always, but thick cock in his mouth stayed immobile.  
  
"Suck, boy, suck," his CO chuckled. "You were _born_ for that job."  
  
 _No way… No damned way…_  
  
"Fuck him hard." It was no humor in the colonel’s voice.  
  
All Sheppard’s previous experience faded in comparison with what happened next. It was like being fucked with a pneumatic hammer. John struggled, then froze, his legs spread wide in attempt to accommodate the bulk moving in his ass. The pain was unbearable. John screamed like a rabbit, long, high-pitched scream, somewhat muffled by the cock inserted in his mouth. He realized that Everett held his head by the hair, not letting him to get rid of the live gag, then screamed again.  
  
It was too much pain and no escape. Moaning and screaming periodically, John started to suck on Everett’s cock.   
  
The Marine continued to fuck him hard until the colonel got his release into John’s mouth and pulled out.  
  
"You see, it’s easy," said Everett good-naturally and patted John on the cheek.  
  
Sheppard tried to spit the semen, but another cock forced its way into his mouth.  
  
"Suck," said Everett calmly.  
  
John hesitated, but when the giant cock moved in his ass again, he obeyed…  
  
This experience was no better than that ‘ass and mouth’ fucking. It was just the cock in his ass wasn’t moving, but stretching it like a barrel, and he had to suck succession of cocks pushed into his mouth, one after one, with no break.   
  
In a few hours Everett stopped by to see how tattoo was coming. ‘US Marine Corps’ ran in half-circle. The Marine symbol – an eagle with wide spread wings perched on a globe - feathers were done. Rope and anchor – all parts of the tattoo were almost ready.   
  
Sheppard, the sperm of previous releases dripping from his chin, was dutifully sucking on the cock, currently present in his mouth.  
  
"Tired, boy?" the colonel asked. "But that’s a whole point. Every time you’d look at that tattoo you’ll remember how you got it. Oh, and you’ll have a hell of a time explaining to your lovers what a Marine tattoo is doing on the fly-boy’s butt."   
  
Sheppard continued to suck.  
  
***  
  
Colonel Everett was sitting on the prisoner’s cot. Without saying a word, Sheppard crouched between his knees, and let his CO unlock the cuffs. Next John unzipped the man’s pants and serviced him for quite a while, the colonel stroking John’s hair, saying ‘what a good boy.’  
  
Everett finally got his release, and allowed Sheppard to go and clean himself. John went to the bathroom, washed his mouth and brushed his teeth, then took off his pants and boxers, walked from the cell into the interrogation room and lay face down on the table.   
It had become a new routine. When a couple of days ago Everett ordered him to get on his knees and… _suck_ , Sheppard’s only thought was _‘over my dead body’_. It was not torture that made him give in, it was simple logic.   
  
"Come on," said the colonel. "One more, one less – what difference does it make now? Think about it, boy. I could be harsh on you, but I could be grateful too. If you service me now, I’ll let you to lube my private member before it goes into you."  
  
***  
  
That night the Marines were set to please him. Sheppard had had quite a few women in his life, and considered sex a fine activity, but nothing he had experienced before could compare with that wild uncontrollable pleasure those damned bastards filled him with. John couldn’t hold back screams and moans, and by the morning he was more exhausted than after a week of rough fucking.   
  
***  
  
Sheppard grew quite indifferent toward Everett’s activities. Fucking, if it was done slowly and without sadistic twists, wasn’t particularly painful anymore, and John’s ability to feel disgust was somewhat tarnished by the extensiveness of his experience. For him, the saying ‘the first one is the most difficult’ was turning out to be true. Everett didn’t even cuff him anymore for the sessions.  
  
But today, after inserting his cock into the major’s ass, Everett ordered: "Put your hands behind your back." Sheppard obeyed, and felt a tight metal grip on his wrists, anxiety slowly creeping around his stomach.  
  
"Tell me about your first time," said Everett, fucking him slowly.  
  
 _‘Right!’_ thought Sheppard. _‘What else? Is it not enough for you too fuck my body, now you want to fuck my brain too?’_  
  
"I don’t re…" John bit his tongue just in time, not letting the lie escape. Oh, he didn’t want a repetition of that ‘mouth-washing’ experience.   
  
"Huh?" said Everett.  
  
John knew that the colonel had heard him, but gave him time. Time to think. Time to surrender. _‘By tomorrow night you’ll be here, John, old buddy,’_ Sheppard thought, _‘On this very table, in the same position. Only you’ll have a tremendous ass-ache and you will be talking.’_  
  
Everett fucked him slowly, listening to his thoughts, smiling.  
  
"There’s not much to tell," Sheppard sighed eventually.  
  
"Just don’t leave out any details. Try to remember every sound, every smell."  
  
 _Smell._  
  
***  
  
It wasn’t much to tell – the girl, a cadet from another group, a couple of beers, an empty class-room. The entire experience was pathetically short, and they never even talked again. Sheppard clearly remembered his disappointment.  
  
And then it hit him. Malnourishment did it, or exhaustion, or helplessness – but his memory suddenly came back, as if he has entered that class-room again.   
  
It smelled of chalk. Chalk was there, lying by the blackboard, two new pieces on the left, and one small, round, almost totally used up on the right. A cleaning sponge, couple of half-erased equations on the blackboard, tiny particles of dust dancing in the air. John could remember color of the girl’s eyes, and bored indifference in them – he wasn’t her first. Could remember his every move, awkward and hasty. Could remember…  
  
"What’re you doing to me?" he whispered. "What the heck do you want?"  
  
"I’m trying to show you, that your body is not just a sum of parts. It’s one whole thing. Your ass is as important to your body, as your brain." It was a smile in the colonel’s voice.  
  
From now on during the _sessions_ Sheppard told his CO stories of his life. Funny and embarrassing, bitter and sweet – they pulled out those live memories, which John thought he lost forever. He felt like a jig-saw puzzle – the colonel took him apart, and now he was putting him back – bit by tiny bit. Sheppard had vague understanding that Everett was doing it _wrong_ , introducing little ambiguities here and there, but there was nothing he could do about that.   
  
***  
  
The guards cuffed his hands behind his back, blindfolded him and left him standing in the middle of the cell. That was unusual, and John learned to dread the unusual in the ‘operations.’ He tried to keep his breath steady, but his body tensed uncontrollably when he heard approaching steps.   
  
_‘Oh, shit,’_ Sheppard thought. _‘Now what? What sort of torture you didn’t try on me yet?’_  
  
Then strong warm hands cupped his face, and he felt a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth, and another one on his cheek-bone, just below the blindfold, and another one on his jaw, near the ear. There was no lust in those kisses, no passion – just tenderness. Sheppard knew it was a man in front of him, but for some reason he thought of Teyla. That would be the way she’d kiss to comfort him – softly and without desire.  
  
"I wouldn’t…" a whisper rustled in Sheppard’s ear. _‘You wouldn’t what? Hurt me? Oh, where I heard that before?’_   
  
"…do anything _inappropriate_ to you," continued the voice. "Unless you want me to."  
  
"You don’t need to blindfold me – I know who you are," said Sheppard.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Tilly."  
  
The man sighed, then Sheppard felt the cloth pulled from his face. The Marine smiled at him, and threw the blindfold on the cot.  
  
"What about the cuffs?"  
  
"Don’t be greedy, Major." Tilly’s smile got broader. "Besides, some people are only nice while helpless. I’m sure that in normal life you’re a certified asshole."  
  
"That’s bullshit!" Sheppard snapped but fell silent, because his opponent began to laugh. "What’re you gonna do to me?"  
  
"Come, you’ll find out."  
  
Tilly sat on the cot, motioned the prisoner to sit next to him, and in a second Sheppard was lying on his side, his head on the Marine’s lap.  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"Hush…" Tilly’s long finger moved along John’s eyebrow, then across his temple, under the jaw, along the neck and collarbone, making Sheppard gasp with pleasure. "I want your body to remember that physical contact with other person might be pleasant too."   
  
"Why?"  
  
"Those who were tortured often develop a touch-phobia. I don’t want it happen to you. On Earth I would smuggle in some old prostitute. She’d do you more good than I can. But here… Did you know that Weir’s hitting on you?"  
  
"Bull." Sheppard thought that that was rather _awkward_ change of subject.  
  
"You’re one ungrateful pig. If you’ll live through this ordeal – pay her a visit. She did so much for you, and she needs you more than anything. She’s not made of steel, you know."  
  
"That’s where you _wrong_ , buddy."  
  
"That’s where I’m _right._ She’s a bitch, but not a strong person. Sometimes being a bitch gives the same effect – people do what she wants, because they don’t want _noise_. She’s like a rat trying to hang on top of the mast, and thinking she operates the boat."  
  
"You don’t know her!"  
  
"Hush…" Tilly’s hand hold the major down without much effort, then his finger stroked the back of Sheppard’s neck. "I know dozens just like her."  
  
"Then who’s strong?"  
  
"Here? The Colonel. Master Dex is okay. Very damaged, and yet okay. Kitten is an extremely strong person."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
Tilly shrugged. "If we’d take the rat analogy further, she’d be a rat which places a lemon peal on the captain’s path, so the captain would fall and twist his ankle. Thus when the ship will be passing the isle of St. Whoever, it would be the first mate at helm. The first mate who likes color yellow, so he’d likely to pass the isle from the south, along the yellow beaches, and not from the north, where underwater rocks would wreck the ship."  
  
Both men laughed at analogy for a while.  
  
"Your girl-friend’s just more manipulative, that’s all," said Sheppard.  
  
"She is not my g… Kitten is just an _assignment_. And true, she’s manipulative. But that’s not where the difference lies. Weir tries to carve a niche for herself, then find a guy and _surrender_ that niche to him. Everything that Kitten does is for the sole purpose to turn the Universe into an ideal place."  
  
"Ideal from whose point of view?"  
  
"From hers, of course. But the Universe where Wraith are not hungry is not the worst one I can think of." Tilly’s long finger was slowly stroking John’s collarbones – from one shoulder to the other.  
  
"Why are you doing this for me?"  
  
The Marine shrugged. "I’m a good guy?"  
  
His finger moved down the middle of John’s chest, and to his side, along the ribs.  
  
"Ouch! That tickles!"  
  
"Sorry…" Tilly’s finger moved to the back of John’s neck, and between his shoulder-blades, giving Sheppard another jolt of pleasure. Then the Marine’s hand moved lower, and he pulled Sheppard’s pants away from the small of his back. The tattoo was covered with a clean white patch.   
  
"It itches like hell…" Sheppard complained. "Can’t wait to scratch it…"  
  
"You can’t scratch it until it stopped itching," Tilly said seriously, and placed his palm over it. The itching stopped.  
  
"How’re you doing that? It’s so…"  
  
"Nice?"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
Tilly sighed. "Everybody have some talent."   
  
"I thought your talent is fucking. Everett says you’re _brainless fuck._ "  
  
"That’s _Colonel_ Everett for you," the Marine gave a short laugh and hit the prisoner in the ear with an open palm.  
  
"Shit!" Oh, that _hurt_. John raised his shoulder and tried to rub his poor ringing ear against it. "That was totally uncalled for!"  
  
"Your insolence gave you so much trouble already, and you still didn’t learn," said Tilly. "Now, let me cure that for you," and he put his palm over Sheppard’s ear. "Brainless fuck – that’s true. But that’s true not the way _you_ think it is. You see, when I look at human body, I… know what that body needs to be _pleased_. And I don’t let my brain hide that knowledge from me. Some spend a lifetime trying to learn how to do it. I always could. Idiots are lucky, I guess."   
  
The Marine took his palm from John’s ear – it didn’t hurt anymore.  
  
"Why are you here?" Sheppard asked again. The Marine’s fingers were rubbing him under a jaw, making him almost purr with pleasure.   
  
"It’s my night off. I have nothing else to do."  
  
"Why wouldn’t you go visit…"  
  
The fingers under Sheppard’s jaw stopped.  
  
"I meant no disrespect," John added hastily.  
  
Tilly sighed and continued rubbing. "Daedalus is here. I can’t go to her."  
  
" _What_ is here?"  
  
"Daedalus – the ship from Earth. Didn’t you know?"  
  
"They don’t bring my memos here," Sheppard said bitterly.  
  
"I forgot. Kitten sees somebody from Daedalus. She told me to go and do something useful. So I came here."  
  
"Do you know whom?"  
  
Tilly shrugged. "She usually goes for a top man, especially in times like this, when she needs more political leverage. So I have a pretty good idea."  
  
"Aren’t you jealous?"  
  
"Of the other man? Nah…"  
  
Sheppard turned his head slightly to see the Marine’s face. Tilly was staring at something far way away.   
  
"Tilly is jealous," John said in teasing voice.  
  
"Tilly is tired. Tilly would rather be lying on a beach, surrounded by Pina Coladas and beautiful girls." Then he sighed and looked down. "I’m not a jealous type. I’d rather be jealous of that damned Wraith, Beckett is experimenting on."  
  
" _What?_ Why?"  
  
"Because the Wraith is _important_. And men are not. Today it’s one, and tomorrow another." Tilly sighed again.  
  
"You’re not saying that she’s screwing with…" Sheppard fell silent and tried to cover his ear with the raised shoulder.  
  
Nothing happened. The Marine’s hand moved from his jaw into his hair, stroking, rolling strands between fingers. Sheppard risked glancing at Tilly’s face again. The Marine was looking down at him without his usual smile.  
  
"You’re a pile of trash, Sheppard," he said and looked away. "You _deserve_ all that happened to you."  
  
"Oh, yeah?"  
  
"Be still," Tilly said and pushed John’s head back to his lap. "You’re only alive because of her. The Colonel planned to fuck you for a while, then torture you to death and get rid of your body. Kitten wanted both of you to go free – you and that Beckett’s Wraith. But the Colonel couldn’t let her have the things her way – she’s very _pushy_ , he’d loose all authority in no time. The Colonel offered her a deal – he lets the Wraith go, and tortures you to death. She declined. So they had an agreement – you get 120 days of brig, and the Colonel does with you as he pleased, and the Wraith stays with Beckett for 120 days, and Beckett does with it as _he_ pleased. After that you go on parole, and if Beckett’s experiment hasn’t worked out, the Wraith gets shot to death.   
  
"But here’s another catch. All living things have _two_ bodies. One body… and a second body. When I’m silent inside I can _see_ that. A second body is somewhat bigger than the first one – it reaches as far as arm-length from the surface of visible body. But Kitten is a freak. Her second body belongs to a creature size of this Galaxy. That’s why she’s so lonely – there’re very few guys who can withstand the pressure of her energy. When I’m with her, I wish I couldn’t _see_.  
  
"And here comes the Wraith. Beckett gives it a drug and sees what happens. You know those creatures better than I do – think what must be the pain to make it forget all its pride and scream continuously for hours? But the worst part that drug does, it takes away its energy. It’s like pulling a deep-water fish into the shallows. And the only break that thing gets – is when Kitten is around. She… re-pressurizes him. So she can’t leave the lab. I mean, she wouldn’t. She has to watch his pain minute after minute, day after day, month after month. She almost can’t eat; she sleeps on a gurney in the lab. The Colonel sometimes orders her to leave, orders me to take her away. But every second she is with me, she thinks of _him_. You can’t imagine, how it feels – her _‘are we done yet?’_ " Tilly smiled mirthlessly. "Oh, well. There’re no bad or good assignments."  
  
"I don’t get it. It’s just a Wraith." Sheppard tried to shrug.  
  
"But of course you don’t get it!" the Marine laughed. "You’re a _sadist_. And she’s a _person_."  
  
"Isn’t that nice," Sheppard said bitterly, "to call somebody names, when somebody’s hands are tied behind his back?"  
  
The man sighed. Then he moved, bent over and Sheppard felt his hands were free. Next moment John was rather roughly shoved from the cot.   
  
Tilly was looking at him without a smile, his back against the wall.  
  
"Your hands are free now, Major. So let’s have a bet," said the Marine and dropped the cuffs on the cot. "I cuff you back – I fuck you, you cuff me – you fuck me."  
  
***  
  
"Nice try," said Tilly in a minute. Then he twisted Sheppard’s arm little more, pinned his head to the floor with the knee and reached for the cuffs.  
  
John heard a rattle of moved cot, then a metal was locked tightly around the wrist of his twisted arm, and his other arm was pulled backwards. The weight was lifted from Sheppard’s back, and he was lying on the floor, as helpless as he was before. The Marine apprehended him with an unnerving easy.  
  
Tilly shoved the cot back to the wall, and sat on it, cross-legged, his forearms resting on his knees.  
  
"Get up from the floor," he said to the prisoner. "It’s icy."  
  
"I’m fine here, thank you very much." Sheppard had no intention to move anywhere close to his visitor.   
  
"I’m not interested in you," the Marine said and tapped the cot next to him. "Come."  
  
Sheppard pulled his knees to his chest, then slowly got to his feet.  
  
"I’m not gonna fuck you," Tilly repeated. "Not now, anyway."  
  
The floor indeed felt icy to John’s bare feet, so he sat at the distant corner of the cot, and leaned against the wall, pulling his knees up. "Why?"  
  
Tilly shrugged, not looking at him: "You’re disgusting. I don’t feel a slightest attraction for you."  
  
"Because of what all of you did to me?" John wasn’t even angry, just worn out, sleepy again.   
  
"Because you treat people like crap."  
  
"When did I..."  
  
" _You should earn my trust,_ " said Tilly in nastily, snooty voice and turned his head.   
  
Sheppard couldn’t believe that the ‘smile-to-all’ boy was capable of such disdain.   
  
"Who do you think you’re, Major?" the Marine continued. "You, the entire thing, don’t worth a _nail-clipping_ of that man."  
  
" _That man_ is an egomaniac. Keep telling him things like that and he’ll eat you alive."  
  
"Rodney is a nice guy. He tells me stuff. He gives me chocolates."  
  
"Who’s nice? _Rodney’s_ nice?" Sheppard snorted, and then it downed to him. "He is _what_? He gives you _what_?"   
  
If the answer would be 'the blow–jobs', it would be much less surprising. _‘Chocolates,’_ John thought. ‘ _What about cookies with nuts?_ ’  
  
"No way. I like the man, but McKay is the greediest coward I've ever met, he’d never surrender a chocolate."  
  
The Marine gave him a lopsided green. "Yes, you’re brave – but do you really think it makes you better than him? It’s just a _genotype_ , that’s all. Should I say I’m better because my eyes are gray? Rodney is a coward, that’s true. So every time he goes through the Gate he has to deal with it. It’s not easy for him, but he does it.   
  
"And every time he went through that Gate, he _trusted_ you. You – incompetent pile of trash. A pilot – what the heck do you know about ground operations? Nothing. You just got lucky a few times. How dare, _how dare_ you take that brilliant mind through the Gate, when you have no means for protecting him?"   
  
"I had no choice," said Sheppard and sighed. "You use what you have. I’m far from perfect, I know, but _me_ was all I had."  
  
"At least you should've treated those who trusted you with proper care and respect. Rodney speaks of you like you’re some… I don’t know. He’s worried that _you_ don’t trust him anymore. And who’re _you_? Major, you were brought here as a research specimen for the geeks, and because Mama Weir marked you for her bed – that’s all. That’s all you are – nothing more. You don’t deserve Rodney’s concern."  
  
" _Rodney_ , huh?" Sheppard smiled and moved his eyebrows. "So you two have a _thing_ going on?"  
  
"If I wouldn’t have my orders… I would break _every rib_ in your damned body."  
  
Sheppard sighed: "Be my guest. What your gang decides – goes. I deserve to be fucked by fifty men for… what? Being insubordinate? Being arrogant and snooty? Not knowing _my place_ , whatever that is? What else? For not having enough compassion for that Wraith? And just for the record – _I don’t have a spec of pity for him_. And don’t tell me you do."  
  
"I do," Tilly said simply. "I’m not a sadist. I have done some pretty bad things, but I can’t _enjoy_ anybody’s pain or despair. Not even yours."  
  
The statement was devoid of any attitude, but John felt the Marine wasn’t lying.  
  
"He is very smart. I think he’s smarter than Dr. McKay," Tilly continued softly.  
  
"Who? The Wraith? How do you know?"  
  
"When he’s not in pain, I talk to him."  
  
"And he talks back?" John couldn’t believe his ears.   
  
"Why not?" Tilly smiled his usual smile. "You do."  
  
"I’m not a… whatever. I just wanted to ask – why don’t you blame me for Colonel Sumner’s death?"  
  
"The Colonel was the only men I ever knew who really disliked me. He hated my guts. But if I’d think it was a murder, I wouldn’t _blame_ you. I’d _kill_ you."  
  
"Right," Sheppard was silent for a while. "How long had you known him?"  
  
"Seven years. May be eight. Actually I met all three of them on the same day. Colonel Sumner, Colonel Everett, and Kitten."  
  
"Does she have a name?"  
  
"She doesn’t like names. She never calls people by their names."  
  
"She calls you…"  
  
"Tilly? It’s not a name. My name if Philip. Pip–Philly–Tilly."  
  
~~~  
  
It was his usual outdoor exercise routine – 10 miles cross, then some sit-ups and push-ups.   
  
"Hey, boy! Come here."  
  
That was it. _Hey boy!_ Informal as an invitation from hell. Phillip turned around and felt his mouth went dry. He knew those two. They were a legend, Marsh and Dill. Buddies and rivals, competing for feats, fame and promotions. Rumors were that they were going to get the next promotion on the same day – superiors didn’t want that rivalry go out of control.  
  
Philip stood to attention. "Sirs."  
  
Dill was smiling, showing white fangs, Marsh looked sour. He gave the boy a short, violently-blue stare, then grunted something indecipherable and looked aside.  
  
"At ease." It was the woman, who’d spoken. Phillip noticed her only now – skinny little woman in black cargo-pants and baggy long-sleeved top. He never saw her before. And even if he’d seen her, he wouldn’t remember her – so unremarkable she was. Like some saint from soldier’s heaven she stood between those two camouflage-clad archangels, narrowing her hazel eyes in pleasure, giving him her shameless smile.  
  
"Don’t be like that," said Dill, reached over the woman and nudged Marsh on the shoulder.   
  
Marsh said nothing.  
  
"Marshy got constipation," said Dill and winked at the boy. "Don’t pay attention to him."  
  
The reaction was immediate – Marsh’s punch was a blur, Dill staggered on his feet and rubbed his injured shoulder. Then he sighed: "I guess, boy, you gonna work for me. Uncle Marsh must have eaten something wrong."   
  
"Hush, you two, Dismas and Gestas!" the woman said and punched them both on the shoulders with her little sharp fists. "What’s your name, boy?"  
  
~~~  
  
 _What is your name?_  
  
"Uncle Marsh always disliked me. And it was Kitten, who picked me. I still don’t know why. They were close, Marsh and Kitten," Tilly sighed. "She was the only person with whom Uncle Dill didn’t mind sharing his buddy. I don’t know how she lived through his death – here, all alone."  
  
***  
  
The guards didn’t know, but blindfolding him now was absolutely useless. Sheppard knew them all. Every voice was connected to its face, smell, touch, to individual _fucking style._  
  
That’s why John’s entire body tensed, when he heard the voice that shouldn’t be there, in the cell.  
  
"Bates, is that you?" By the silence that followed, Sheppard knew he was right. "If you touch me… if you lay one finger on me, I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch!" Against his best wishes John’s voice turned into a high-pitched yell, and two Marines who were holding him face-down in front of his cot had to use their full body-weight to prevent him from breaking free.   
  
"What the heck’s wrong with you today?" growled the Marine, who just barely escaped a ferocious bite from the prisoner. "You think if he’s a black guy he’s so much bigger and better than we are?"  
  
"He is pretty good for his height," said the second Marine, trying to be fair.   
  
"True. But it’s _stereotyping_ that gets me! Give me that pillow, he’s not gonna calm down on his own."  
  
As during the first days of his imprisonment John’s face was pushed into a pillow, cutting off all his air. He struggled for a while, until his ears rang, and he couldn’t feel his arms and legs anymore. Then it was too late, the Sergeant’s cock was in Sheppard’s body, moving in strong, accurate strokes.  
  
The event was pathetically short – no longer than quarter-an-hour. Then the Marines unlocked one of the bracelets of Sheppard’s cuffs, and left the room.   
  
John slowly took the blindfold off, then slid to the floor and sat for a while in front of his cot, shaking, totally oblivious of his surroundings. Then he went to the shower, and washed himself, more out of habit than a conscious decision.  
  
For the first time since the beginning of his imprisonment he couldn’t see himself leaving this cell. He just wanted to crawl in the corner, never to move again.


	3. The Sum of Parts - 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very grateful to an_kayoh for editing this chapter.

“And you have the nerve to tell me you're my friend.”

Wraith POW, nicknamed Michael by you know who.  
–––––––––––––––––

“It’s not an explanation,” he said, and laughed again. “There ain’t any explanations. Not of anything. All you can do is point at the nature of things. If you are smart enough to see ‘em.”

Robert Penn Warren.  
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

–––––––––––––––––––

  
  
  
The door rattled open. Sheppard didn’t even raise his head to see who had come. He was sitting on his cot at the very corner of the cell, wrapped in his blanket and bed-sheet. And still he couldn’t get any warmer. It was exactly the same feeling he had while lying on the cold floor of that damned storage room, after Colonel Everett… _raped_ him for the first time. He couldn’t believe that Bates could… _This is not happening_.  
  
"I’ve never seen you cry before," Everett said quietly.  
  
Sheppard didn’t know he was crying. He raised his hands to his face. His face was wet.  
  
"Did it ever happen to you…" Sheppard fell silent not knowing how to word his question.  
  
"Have I ever been fucked by somebody whom I didn’t expect to fuck me?" Everett wrinkled his forehead as if trying to recall. "No. And you know why? Because I _expect_. Do you see your problem? Every time somebody fucks you without your permission your first thought is: _‘Oh, that’s unfair!’_ "  
  
"No," Sheppard said in small, but very stubborn voice. "My first thought is: _It fucking hurts!’_ "  
  
"All right, you won," Everett chuckled. "Your _second_ thought is: _‘I don’t deserve it!_ ’ You set up some code of rules, by which other people should treat you. And if they don’t, you get pissed or upset. A little advice - treat other people like _rain_. You don’t get pissed at rain, right? You just get some cover."  
  
"What could I do to stop that… son of a bitch? Well? I was cuffed and two guys were holding me down!"  
  
"You could’ve prevented the entire thing!"  
  
"How?"  
  
"You should’ve _ran_. Granted, you couldn’t predict the first one – you didn’t have that sort of experience. But after that, instead of crying and hiding in your bed, you should’ve grabbed that woman, Teyla, and _ran_."  
  
"Is that what you’d do?"  
  
"Yes. I didn’t have any plans about you back then. During the first couple of hours you could’ve left without any trouble. But if worse came to worst, you should’ve shoved your pride… ahem… where it hurts less, and hide behind my niece’s back. If you wouldn’t be so dumb and cocky, she could’ve saved you. She really could."  
  
"I didn’t want to run. I had the City to take care of."  
  
"Yeah. You’ve been a great help. As recreational activity for the boys."  
  
"What do you want?" John asked, and thought that the question was rather rhetorical.  
  
"Actually, I need a favor." Everett stayed by the door, not coming any closer.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"I want you to let Bates fuck you again."  
  
"No." Sheppard pushed himself tighter to the corner, as if he wanted his body to go through the wall.  
  
"Please?" the colonel offered.  
  
"No! You’re insane. You wanted to break me? I’m broken! And my parts are scattered all over the Pegasus Galaxy! What else do you want? Eh?"  
  
"Don’t give up on yourself just yet," Everett chuckled. "One night. And I’ll give you a week vacation after that."  
  
"No."  
  
"Entire week. No fucking. No cuffs."  
  
"Go to hell," Sheppard lowered his head. "Why? He already fucked me. Just tie me up again, that’s all. Why do you need my consent?"  
  
Everett sighed. "If that boy wants to be my head of security, he needs to know a thing or two about fucking. But I need a _cooperating_ subject to explain it to him. For now we have two available candidates – you and that thing Beckett is experimenting on. But you can’t fuck a Wraith." The last phrase sounded matter-of-fact, but Sheppard caught an edge of disappointment in the colonel’s voice.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
Everett looked at his prisoner with reserved admiration – Sheppard partially crawled out of the blanket, his face a picture of innocent curiosity.  
  
"Well, you just _can’t,_ " stated Everett.  
  
"Did you try? Did you _actually…_ "  
  
"I’m still breathing. That means – no!"  
  
"Then how… oh, don’t tell me they don’t have _assholes_! They can eat regular food, which means…"  
  
"Argh!" the colonel rolled his eyes in frustration. "You’re an _iron horse_ , major. You should be catatonic by now, instead you’re contemplating how one would fuck a Wraith. But you know, when a _normal person_ has a question, he doesn’t go looking for assholes. He asks a specialist."  
  
 _Specialist in Wraith fucking?_ John snorted. The picture of Beckett, lecturing Colonel Everett on virtues of certain recreational activities floated into his view. Sheppard laughed until tears ran from his eyes again. Everett observed him sadly.  
  
"What did he say?" John asked after a minute, still chuckling.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Beckett."  
  
"I didn’t ask _Beckett._ "  
  
"Then whom… Ah… Oh… What did she say?"  
  
Everett sighed. "She threw a thing at me. A _thing…_ " he repeated, making an uncertain gesture. "It stunk like decomposing skunk."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And she told me to go fuck Beckett, because what he was doing to that _research specimen_ of his was worse than performing a sex-change procedure without the patient’s consent."  
  
"And?"  
  
"Sheppard, you’re full of crap!"  
  
At that moment John realized that his CO didn’t hate him anymore. Hadn’t hated him for quite a while.  
  
"All right," Everett continued. "She told me that the thing Wraith eat is like… no… has some properties of an electricity. Imagine, some brainless dick wants to electrocute himself. What do you need to do to be electrocuted with him?"  
  
"Grab his arm or something when he grabs the wire."  
  
"Yes. The Wraith thing is similar – any close physical contact, and your energy would leak to the bastard and stay there. Fucking, as you well aware, is _very close_ physical contact. Wraith don’t really need the enzyme to take a life-force, they need it to take _juices_ from a human body, and it has some properties of the drug the boys shoot you with before long fucking – it keeps you aware of stuff."  
  
"And if a Wrath would cooperate?"  
  
"I dunno…" it was obvious that the thought have never occurred to Everett before. "Why’d it _cooperate_?"  
  
"I dunno… Just a thought."  
  
"And speaking of cooperation…" the colonel began.  
  
"All right. Bring him in. But you know – he’ll _never_ be good at it. He’ll _never_ be able to fuck a truth out of prisoner. He tries to do his fucking by regulations, but you can only do it by gut-feeling."  
  
***  
  
"The prisoner is all yours," Everett smiled, folded his arms in front of his chest, and leaned against the cell door.  
  
Bates didn’t move. The fact that Sheppard was looking him right in the eyes and smiling made him feel rather uneasy. And John knew it; after all, he had worked with this man for almost a year.  
  
"This is awkward," Everett commented. "Need some help, sergeant?"  
  
"You see, Bates, you have to learn to do these things looking your victim right in the eyes. Oh, to heck with you," said Sheppard and unzipped his pants.  
  
***  
  
When John stepped out of the shower, Everett was still in the cell. He was pacing by the door, back and forth, five steps – turn, five steps – turn…  
  
Sheppard looked at him calmly, drying his hair with a towel.  
  
Everett stopped, and gave the prisoner an unhappy stare. Then he sighed: "Well, Major, we did what we could. The boy has no talent." He sighed again. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow you go on parole."  
  
"I have four more weeks in…"  
  
"Tomorrow. Nine hundred sharp."  
  
***  
John, fully dressed in Atlantis uniform, his hair still wet from the shower, got up from his cot. "Sir."  
  
"Come," Everett beckoned him from the door, "I’ll show you something interesting."  
  
It was a gym – mats on the floor, three dozen Marines leaning against the walls, two circling the center of the room. Dex was holding his usual stance, relaxed, almost lazy, his head down so his hair covered his face.  
  
The entire thing took less than twenty seconds – after a powerful punch one of the Marines flew to the wall, but to Sheppard’s surprise he composed himself almost immediately, next both of them were upon the big guy, knocking him off balance. After another minute of struggle the Marines got to their feet and Dex stayed on the floor, his hands cuffed behind his back.  
  
"You’re losing your touch, Ronon," Sheppard said quietly.  
  
"There’re _fifty_ of them here!" Dex growled and twisted his neck, trying to see who had spoken.  
  
He gave Sheppard a very strange glance and tried to get to his feet, but his captors shoved him back to the ground, ‘ _get down and stay down_ ’. Ronon didn’t attempt to get up anymore; John saw his sides moving with every breath, and the big guy put his head to the floor, resting. Sheppard never saw him that exhausted before.  
  
"Don’t be too hard on the man," Everett commented. "They’ve been exercising since before dawn."  
  
Sheppard walked to the center of the room and crouched over his friend. "Give me the key," he held out his hand. "Give me the damn key!" his stare was so fierce, that the Marine involuntarily stepped back. Everett nodded silently.  
  
Sheppard unlocked the cuffs, grabbed the big guy and pulled him to his feet, feeling sudden spell of dizziness.  
  
"I’m all right," John smiled, holding on Ronon’s shoulder. "Got up too fast."  
  
Dex slowly put his hand upon John’s forearm in silent ‘thank you’. For a moment their wrists were close – almost identically covered with scars, abrasions and bruises. Sheppard looked up at Dex’s face.  
  
 _‘I know what happened to you,_ ’ Ronon’s stare was saying. There was no pity in those dark eyes, just quiet acceptance. ‘ _It’s all right._ ’  
  
"Major," said Everett.  
  
"I resign," there was a deadly determination in Sheppard’s voice. "I don’t belong to the military."  
  
"Sheppard, you’re full of surprises," Everett raised his eyebrows. "All right. Write a resignation letter, and let’s see what I can do. Now, Master Dex, your new assignment is to get the major… resigned, to the proper shape. Do whatever it takes."  
  
"I’m no good for that. Teyla was training him before."  
  
"Well, we don’t know where Teyla is, do we? And much good her training did him. I want something more real. Give the boy a proper schooling, would you, Master Dex?"  
  
***  
  
They were on a balcony, high above wrinkled, sparkling surface of the ocean, sitting a few feet apart from each other, their backs against the wall, two opened bottles of Champaign – the colonel’s present – standing on the floor between them. Sheppard was to report to Everett after this celebration, and from then on two guards would accompany him everywhere.  
  
"Did they…" Sheppard began after a half an hour of dead silence.  
  
Dex didn’t look at him. Instead he took a sip from his bottle. "Me? No. They do worse – they _outrun_ me."  
  
"What do you mean?" John gave his friend a sideways glance, reached for his bottle and took a slow sip.  
  
"My assignment was to train those new Marines. Be a… device, on which they’d train themselves. When I play a Wraith, I still can beat most of them. But when they are Wraith… Four months ago I could outrun any number of them in the forest. I could put ten of them out cold at once. But they learn. And they _communicate_ – any trick of mine gets known by all in no time. Now, if I don’t fight to kill, four of them can apprehend me easily. Three or even two if I’m tired. They’re _worse_ than Wraith. Because they’re _better_ ," Dex looked indifferent.  
  
Sheppard sat quietly for a while, resting his eyes on the glittering ocean surface.  
  
"How did you know?" he asked, almost silently.  
  
"Smell. Every day I smelled you all over him," Dex frowned and looked away. "They didn’t let me see you. I… didn’t know what to do. So I tried to kill Colonel Everett."  
  
"You _what_?"  
  
Dex didn’t respond, just shifted uneasily, without looking at Sheppard.  
  
"What happened?" it was a softness in John’s voice.  
  
"I failed. He _knew_ I was coming."  
  
"What did he do to you?"  
  
Ronon moved his head – not exactly a shake, not exactly a nod. Then he took a couple of huge sips from his bottle. Next second he was snorting and coughing, foam running down his short beard to the front of his leather west.  
  
"How do you drink that stuff?" Dex gave a vessel in his hand a disgusted look. Champaign was still bubbling over the mouth of the bottle.  
  
"Slowly," Sheppard chuckled and took another sip. "What did he do to you?"  
  
"Nothing. Stunned me. Tied me up. Talked to me."  
  
"What about?"  
  
It was a huge sigh. Dex scratched the side of his head with his free hand and sighed again.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Everett was sitting on his bed.  
  
"So, Master Dex, you decided to act. Straightforward, as always. I respect that. But it is not a survival trait."  
  
Ronon snarled and tried to free himself again.  
  
"I don’t trust that plastic stuff," the colonel made a face. "So I put a few pairs of cuffs on you. I think they should hold. But if you want to try it for yourself, our conversation can wait."  
  
Dex struggled against his bonds for a while, then calmed down, staring at his captor.  
  
"Good," said Everett. "That’s a start. First, let me tell you how I am going to discipline you. To get that out of the way. My guess is that your actions have something to do with misfortune of Johnny-boy. Am I right?"  
  
Ronon kept staring.  
  
Everett sighed: "You’re loyal to your friend. I respect that. He’s a pretty boy, you know. I kind of thought of keeping him for myself, but… Because you decided that you can act the way you did, I think I’ll share your friend with all my men. He is going to learn a lot of interesting stuff. He should thank you – from now on he won’t have enough time to get bored."  
  
"You bastard! I did it, punish me!" Dex growled, and tried to free his hands again. It didn’t work.  
  
"Thinking that your friend will have to service fifty guys will be a good enough punishment for you."  
  
"He’d never…"  
  
"He will. He will be a perfect whore." The colonel got to his feet, walked to the bed stand and took a small device out of it. He turned it on and dropped it on the bed.  
  
The device was a recorder of some sort. There was a slapping sound, a struggle and a muffled cry. Next were raw breaths, almost sobs, rhythmic gasps, and familiar voice cried out: "Damn it!"  
  
 _Ah… ah… damn it… ah… oh… oh…_ and another short cry.  
  
"It was just me," Everett said calmly. "And I wasn’t even harsh on him."  
  
"Does it turn you on?" Ronon snarled and made desperate attempt to free his hands again.  
  
"You mean the recording?" the colonel raised his eyebrows. "No. I made it for you. When I knew you’re gonna come visit me."  
  
"Then stop it!"  
  
"All right." Everett sat on the bed again and turned the recorder off. "Let’s do something more entertaining. If I am to give the boy to my men, why not now?" He touched his headset radio and gave an order – bunch of letters and numbers. Next he reached for remote and turned on a big screen on the wall.  
  
"Here you are," the colonel said with satisfaction and one of the screen windows went full-screen.  
  
The prisoner was curled on his cot, covered with a blanket head to toe. There was a sound of door rolling open, and two guards stepped into a view. Sheppard woke and in a moment he was crouched on his hands and knees, his stare wild. He backed to the foot of the bed, his wary eyes on the visitors.  
  
It was a short, messy fight, one Marine was on John’s back, while the other one was pulling his pants down. The guards blindfolded the prisoner, got him to his feet and walked him out of the room.  
  
Everett readjusted the screen.  
  
"He is not gonna like that," he commented. "I never did that to him before."  
  
Now it was the interrogation room. The guards dragged the prisoner to the wall and attached his cuffed hands to the ring far above his head. They spread his legs a little, and wrapped chained to the floor padded restraints around his ankles.  
  
One of the Marines unzipped his pants, and pulled the prisoner’s butt toward him, bringing it to the more favorable angle. In the next moment Ronon saw Sheppard’s fingers closed around the ring his hands were attached to, and heard: "Ah… damn it…" and a short cry.  
  
***  
  
Oh, this was something new. The guard pulled his butt backwards, next Sheppard felt hot hardness slide between his cheeks and stopped against his opening.  
  
The Marine blew at the back of John’s head to get his attention. "Listen, buddy. Relax as much as you can. It will be painful as it is, without any extra resistance."  
  
He pushed hard, and again, and again. John’s impulse was to bend forward, to spread his legs, but suspended as he was he didn’t have such options.  
  
There was simply no room. The cock forced itself up his ass, like a molting snake squeezing through a tiny crack between stones.  
  
 _He is going to scrape my insides raw,_ Sheppard thought through the clouds of pain. He could feel every inch of that cock, and ache wrapped around it in colorful stripes. His body was struggling against the invasion, and he found himself dancing on tiptoes, but all those efforts only made his suffering worse.  
  
"Well, I like tight fucking," the Marine sighed and pulled John’s butt down, inserting himself all the way.  
  
 _Just let me bend forward,_ John thought and couldn’t hold back a cry: "Damn it!"  
  
***  
  
"Stop it!" Ronon growled. "He didn’t do anything! I tried to kill you, so do it to me!"  
  
"Somehow I don’t think it would come to you as a shock," Everett said thoughtfully, with half a smile on his face. "You were disciplined like that before, weren’t you? I’d say – on multiple occasions. Oh, I’m not telepathic," the colonel continued, looking at the stunned face of his captive. "I’m almost twice as old as you’re, Master Dex. I have a lot of experience."  
  
His expression changed a little. "But I think I’m losing my touch."  
  
The colonel jumped at his prisoner and turned him face down. Three pairs of a very tight plastic cuffs didn’t give Dex much of leeway, but he had successfully worked through the first pair with a little knife.  
  
"Drop it," the colonel put a stunner to Ronon’s head, and wrung the blade out of his fingers. "I’m getting old."  
  
A brutal search followed, there was no part of Ronon’s body that was left unmolested. The colonel threw all uncovered gadgets to the floor, out of the prisoner’s reach. Dex snarled as the search went through his hair, and he saw three hacked–off dreads hit the floor in front of his face.  
  
"Be happy I didn’t shave you," Everett shrugged, slipped another pair of cuffs over Ronon’s hands and pulled them tight. Next he grabbed Dex by the shoulders and propped his body against the chair. "Now look what your behavior’s doing to your friend."  
  
Dex didn’t want to look. He knew all too well what Sheppard was going through. He heard gasps, and moans, and short cries.  
  
"What is it about that sort of punishment that makes you tick? Eh, Master Dex?" the colonel asked. "It’s not more painful than a drop of iodine on a paper cut."  
  
"I don’t know what iodine is."  
  
"It causes a little burning sensation."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"About the iodine?"  
  
"About the…" Dex didn’t know how to continue.  
  
"I’ve been _told._ On multiple occasions," the colonel smiled. "And yet. What is that about a man’s cock in your ass that makes you _melt_?"  
  
 _I don’t know,_ Ronon wanted to say.  
  
"Fuck!" Sheppard on the screen yelled.  
  
"Fuck indeed," said the Marine and pulled out.  
  
Dex looked up. Sheppard was shivering, trying to pull his legs free. Ronon saw blood and semen running down the man’s thighs, the raw marks on his wrists.  
  
"I know how it looks," Everett sighed. "But where would you be, if you weren’t disciplined like that?"  
  
 _’Dead,’_ Dex thought. _‘If my commander had given that business a go, I’d be executed. Instead the entire regiment went through my butt. Back then I didn’t know what was worse…’_  
  
"I see," the colonel was looking at him with understanding. "I know, you don’t believe it now, but it will do good to the boy."  
  
Dex looked up at the screen.  
  
"He’s hard again," the next Marine shook his head, his hand slid around the front of Sheppard’s body and made a couple of rough jerking movements, making Sheppard cry out. "That’s better. You’re not here to get pleasure."  
  
The Marine aligned, and pulled the prisoner’s butt toward him.  
  
"Damn it!" Sheppard cried, feeling the man’s cock sliding up his ass again. "Bastard!"  
  
"Shut up, or I’ll gag you," said the Marine, and started to move his hips with growing force.  
  
"Well. Enough of that," the colonel stated and turned the screen off. "It’ll be couple of hours with the wall, then they move him to the table. Wall is more exhausting, but only a table gives a proper angle for such education. Now we have important business to discuss."  
  
***  
  
Everett sighed. "How long have you been here, Master Dex?"  
  
Ronon said nothing.  
  
"Half a year," the colonel continued. "I’ve been here little over a month. Did you notice any difference?"  
  
Dex turned his head away.  
  
"I see," Everett nodded. "You don’t want to lie, but the truth is unbearable. As a leader of full scale operation Johnny–boy was a _disaster_. Right?"  
  
Ronon set for a while, then nodded: "Things are… easier your way."  
  
"You don’t betray him, admitting that," the colonel said quietly. "Nobody’s perfect. Leader of a small team – yes. But this was too big for him. He will understand it too. Just give him some time."  
  
"And some fucking," Dex was looking him right in the eye now.  
  
Everett shook his finger at him. "Language, my boy. But yes – fucking, as you put it, will help him to understand. You see, I stripped him of all his power. He is not even in control of his own body anymore. But the day will come when he understands that it’s not the power that makes him what he is. I promise I’ll let him go the very day he realizes that."  
  
"You want to break him."  
  
"True. But not the way you think. I don’t want him to become a brainless whore. That would be easy. I can give an order and the boys will fuck him 48 hours in a row. After that he’ll service anyone just to avoid the repetition of that exercise. I want to destroy what he had become, and let him to rebuild himself from scratch. The second version might be better than the first."  
  
"And if not?"  
  
The colonel shrugged. "There is always a room for a second try. I mean a room with a heavy duty table in it. But let’s hope for the best. And that’s not what I wanted to speak to you about anyway."  
  
Everett got to his feet, walked to his prisoner and crouched by his side, his hand on Ronon’s shoulder.  
  
"You see – we’re at war. _And we’re gonna win that war_. Oh, not the military, of course. Military never won anything. But scientists will. They will find the way. And if it comes to that and this place is about to fall, I’ll sacrifice every last one of my men, myself included, to give the geeks every second I can to solve this problem. That’s what well-organized military is for – to buy us as much time as possible.  
  
"Now, you can stay and help. You can leave – I’ll spare some supplies for you. If you stay, you will have to follow orders. Without hesitation and without second thoughts. Because if you don’t… if you try to get under my feet…" Everett’s hand moved to Dex’s throat, and the big guy realized that no tension of his neck muscles would prevent the colonel from suffocating him. Everett’s grip had a mechanical quality to it, and his fingers were made of steel. Ronon tried to struggle, but in a few seconds dropped those fruitless attempts. The colonel’s hand relaxed a little. "If you _again_ make me waste one minute of my time on your stupidity, instead of using it to get us that victory, _Sheppard will live to regret the day he met you_. He’ll think that his current state of affairs were picnic on the beach. Do we have an understanding?"  
  
"Yes," Dex croaked.  
  
"Good." Everett moved his hand back to Dex’s shoulder, and looked him right in the eyes. "I need you here, Master Dex. My boys need you. Who will teach them how the Wraith think, if not you? He," and the colonel pointed with his head at the empty screen, "will need you, when he’s through with his chores. I know such boys. He’d rather put his life on line for you, than let you close. He has _no one_ here whose help he can accept. He’ll need at least someone with whom he can talk about what happened to him. Who would he go to? Beckett? McKay? Maybe Ms. Weir?"  
  
Ronon shuddered involuntarily, thinking about that last choice.  
  
"I’m glad you understand. Will you stay, or should I show you to the Gate?" the colonel’s voice sounded almost kind.  
  
Dex set for a long minute, not moving, his eyes studying some other dimension. Then he looked up at Everett’s face. "I’ll stay," firmly and quietly.  
  
"Good. Now let’s look how Johnny-boy is doing," said the colonel with a smile and turned the screen on.  
  
***  
  
"Hm… They moved him to the table already. Too early, I’d say," the colonel commented, looking at the screen.  
  
Dex risked taking a peek, and couldn’t take his eyes away.  
  
Sheppard was lying on the table, blindfolded, his hands cuffed behind his back. One of his ankles was attached to the table leg, his other knee was on the table, secured with the belt tied around his chest.  
  
"Good solution, though, gives more room," Everett nodded. "The idea is to fuck him, not to tear him and let him bleed to death. It’s not the pain that does the trick, don’t you think, Master Dex?"  
  
Ronon said nothing, looking at the screen. The man currently fucking Sheppard possessed a phenomenal dick. Ronon was pretty big himself, but that thing was more than a foot long and thicker than a woman’s wrist. Dex couldn’t believe that Sheppard could keep so quiet, when the Marine pulled almost all way out, and pushed in with a visible effort.  
  
Out – in… out – in…  
  
John arched his back after one especially powerful thrust, and Ronon saw the man was gagged.  
  
"That is _pathetic,_ " the colonel made a face. "With that instrument he can make the prisoner as vocal or as quiet as he wants!" and touched his headset radio.  
  
The Marine inserted himself as deep as he could, bent over an grabbed John’s hair. "Open it up!" he made a rough jerk with his hips, pulled the soaked with saliva rubber plug out of the prisoners mouth, and threw it on the table.  
  
The procedure continued. Out – in… out – in…  
  
"Fuck!" John screamed and tugged on his cuffs. "FUCK! Fu… aaauh!"  
  
The Marine pulled almost all way out, and his hand went between the prisoner’s legs, probing his erection. The Marine gave John’s balls a powerful squeeze. Sheppard cried out, ejaculating, and again, when that telephone–pole began another journey up his ass.  
  
Sheppard struggled and swore for a while, but soon nothing was left but little gasps, moans, and  _ah… ah… ah…_ accompanying every stroke of the giant cock.  
  
Dex saw his friend put his head to the table in exhaustion, his cloth–covered face away from the screen, his entire body rocking with every thrust, his now limp cock dangling between his legs.  
  
Ronon didn’t want it, but his body seemed to have its own mind.  
  
"Hm…" Everett said, looking at Dex’s crotch. " _That_ could be arranged." And he gave his captive a playful wink.  
  
"No! I don’t want it! It’s just… I don’t want it!"  
  
"He’ll never know. I’m not asking you to look him in the eyes."  
  
"I don’t want it."  
  
"He is facing twelve hours of very rough ass-stretching. You could be as gentle on him as you want. And I’d subtract the time your member spent in his ass from the total time of the procedure. For all I care, you can do him all twelve hours, if you can."  
  
"No," Ronon whispered.  
  
"All right. It’s your choice. I just thought you might take pity on his ass. After all, it was you who brought this upon him."  
  
The picture on the screen changed. The new Marine didn’t have much fantasy, or didn’t want to use it today. He simply fucked the prisoner as hard and fast as he could. Sheppard kept quiet, he just turned his head to the other side, and Dex saw blood on his bitten-through lips.  
  
"I’ll do it," Ronon whispered. "Damn you."  
  
***  
  
The place where they kept Sheppard wasn’t very far from the colonel’s quarters. Everett undid the cuffs on Dex’s ankles and walked him down the corridor. How he would explain the situation if they met somebody, Ronon didn’t even try to guess.  
  
When the Marines pulled his pants down, Ronon looked back at Everett and tugged on his cuffs, silently asking to free him.  
  
"You don’t need your _hands_ ," the colonel chuckled.  
  
***  
  
Sheppard was lying on the table in the same position. Ronon saw semen and blood on his butt and thighs. He aligned and pushed himself forward as gentle as he could, and felt how Sheppard’s ass relaxed, letting him in, and tightened again as if probing a new torture device.  
  
Ronon glanced at Everett, and the colonel nodded and showed him his wrist watch.  
  
It looked like a forced coupling of farm animals, Dex thought, and involuntarily tugged on his cuffs again. Sheppard’s ass felt hot around his dick, and his entire body was feverish, and shook ever so slightly.  
  
Everett appeared in a view and tapped on his wrist-watch again. Ronon understood. He moved his hips back and forth, trying to be as tender as he could. And again, and again.  
  
 _The body is a strange thing,_ thought Dex twenty minutes later. He knew he was moving too fast, but couldn’t stop himself. Infinity knows, he tried. Sheppard was moaning and gasping again, his ass relaxing and tightening rhythmically around the Ronon’s cock. John started to thrash about, and Dex with his hands bound could do nothing about it but growl. Everett held Sheppard’s body down, Ronon realigned himself and continued his movements with even greater ferocity. _What am I doing?_ The thought shot through the hot mist of his brain but left no trace. _You. Are. Going. To. Scream!_ Dex thought delivering brutal thrusts.  
  
 _Ah… ah… ah…_ Sheppard was going. Then he arched his back again and yelled: "Stop! STOP IT!"  
  
Dex felt how his power moved from his body into Sheppard’s, and pulled out, looking in horror on what he had done. John’s shoulders were shaking with soundless sobs.  
  
Everett came close and undid Dex’s cuffs, and Ronon slowly pulled his pants up. He felt as if somebody just fucked _him_ , not the other way around.  
  
"Any time you want to do him, you’re welcome," the colonel chuckled, and patted the big guy on the shoulder.  
  
***  
  
Ronon came back. And one more time, and more. Sometimes he fucked Sheppard himself. Sometimes he stayed around for hours, watching how the Marines fucked him. He liked to put his ear to the Sheppard’s back between his shoulder blades, and listen to the wild dance of man’s dick in John’s ass, and his quiet moans.  
  
He didn’t know why he was doing it. He was never… _into men_. He liked everything about Sheppard, his stubbornness, and his cocky attitude. He didn’t want Sheppard to _suffer_ , but seeing that stubborn and cocky bastard so _helpless_ always turned him on. Every time he promised himself to be gentle, and every time he was harsh, making Sheppard moan, and gasp, and scream. Once Dex injected himself with that aphrodisiac the Marines were using, and did his former team leader for decent six hours.  
  
Dex didn’t give much thought to that ‘I’m helping him’ crap. He knew that the very moment his dick left Sheppard’s ass, another would be shoved in, and so on, and so on, until the man fainted from pain and exhaustion.  
  
The ‘wall’ was his favorite. He was taller than Sheppard, so the power and the depth of his blows didn’t suffer in that position. He usually kept one hand around John’s waist, fixing his butt at a right angle, another cupping John’s balls, ready to deliver a painful squeeze if the man tried to get hard. The last thing was Everett’s order, but Ronon appreciated it. He didn’t want to admit it, but the stream of his thoughts was as follows: _‘Now, with my dick in your ass, and my hand holding you balls, do you want to give me an order? Well? I don’t hear you._ ’ But Ronon _did_ hear him. The ‘wall’ was enormously exhausting for Sheppard, and he whimpered in fatigue more than in actual pain.  
  
John _hated_ the ‘wall’. At least at the table he could spread his legs as wide as he wanted, and sometimes they even let him to put his knee on the table. But here… The Marines liked to work against his tightness, but for John it was hours and hours of unimaginable suffering and humiliation. Every time a new cock was pushed up his ass he found himself on tiptoes, trying to squeeze his thighs, instead of spreading them wider. It was so stupid, and got him nothing but more pain.  
  
 _The heck with the fucking, if they’d leave my balls alone!_ Sheppard thought. He was just put through another forced ejaculation, and was still shivering from the effects. _‘It’s impossible not to get hard when somebody fucks you at this angle! I didn’t do it on purpose!’_  
  
He _hated_ this guy. He felt that the other Marines were just carrying out the orders, but not this one. This one was after _power_. He stayed in the cell and _watched_ for hours, John could hear his breath. He _liked_ screams. He liked to see his _helplessness_. Worst part – John didn’t know who the guy was. He knew most of the other Marines, their voices at least. But this guy hadn’t spoken once. He just came and fucked him, a couple times a night sometimes.  
  
Sheppard thought who that guy might be. He had no idea except for a crazy one. _Kolya_. Would Everett invite that bastard to fuck him? Sheppard had a distinct feeling the colonel was perfectly capable of something like that.  
  
***  
  
Everett’s new order to Marines was to keep Sheppard’s ass occupied at all times. Not to be rough with him, oh, no. Just fuck him every moment they could, make him understand that his body doesn’t belong to him anymore.  
  
So it went – hours, and hours, and hours of very mild, slow fucking. The anti–shock drug didn’t feel like icy blow anymore, it just kept him from falling asleep.  
  
Sheppard was bored to death. The fucking wasn’t painful, not as such, but his entire body ached from being kept in the same position for so long. He tried to protest, but two guards held him down, while the third one continued to plummet Sheppard’s ass with incredibly lazy moves. There was no escape. John stopped his futile attempts to free himself, and lay quietly, accepting the punishment.  
  
"What did I do? Why are you people doing this to me?" he whispered. And felt somebody’s hand stroke him between the shoulder blades.  
  
"Orders," John sighed. "I understand."  
  
***  
  
Dex continued to stroke Sheppard’s back. Everett wouldn’t let him participate in the current exercise because of his short temper. So Ronon sat on the execution table by the John’s side, and thought all sorts of interesting thoughts.  
  
For instance, he thought that he would never agree to… have sex with Sheppard, if Sheppard would ask him. That it wasn’t sex that made him sit on this goddamned table for hours.  
  
Also he thought that he could have done it all by himself, months before Colonel Everett and his team appeared on the horizon. He could have knocked Sheppard unconscious during some off-world mission, lock him up somewhere and… Dex wished that it would be him who did it to his former team leader for the first time. Oh, he wouldn’t blindfold him, no. He would tell him, word by word, what he is going to do, and then would meticulously execute his plan.  
  
And he thought how it was for Sheppard to be… violated for the first time. He asked Colonel Everett, and that old bastard told Dex the entire story, richly supplied with his professional comments and opinions. Ronon wished to see Sheppard’s expression when the colonel penetrated him, and fucked him, and made him… oh. Ronon saw myriads of dark spots dancing in front of his eyes.  
  
***  
  
They finally let him go. Sheppard took a shower, but the very moment he put his pants on, he felt somebody’s presence. Everett was blocking the bathroom doorway, smiling at him.  
  
John felt his legs are giving way, so he perched his butt at the edge of the sink and hugged himself, tucking his hands under his armpits.  
  
Everett didn’t move and said nothing.  
  
"Give me a break," Sheppard lowered his head, and glanced at his torturer again.  
  
Everett kept smiling.  
  
John found himself smiling back. "At least tell me what did I do wrong. Next time I might think twice before doing it."  
  
"Nothing," the colonel shrugged. "It’s just a part of the normal procedures."  
  
"Oh, thank you very much."  
  
"You’re most welcome. Now, take your pants off, cuff yourself, and go to the table."  
Everett showed him a pair of cuffs, hanging from his finger.  
  
"How about I kick your ass?" Sheppard raised his eyebrows.  
  
The old Marine gave a short good natured laugh. "Feel free to try."  
  
John sighed. Exhausted as he was he had no chance against this murderous bastard. A little stubborn voice in his brain was screaming ‘ _do it anyway_!’ but his body begged for mercy.  
  
"What’s it gonna take for you to leave me alone for a few hours?" Sheppard asked eventually.  
  
Everett said nothing, staring at him, smiling.  
  
John sighed again. Then he pulled his pants down and left the bathroom, deliberately bumping into Everett’s shoulder.  
  
He lay on the table, feeling a dull pain in every muscle. Even his skin ached. _I’m gonna get bed… table sores from this._  
  
So it went on, and on, and on. The Marines took turns every half an hour, and every one of them was boringly lazy. Sheppard didn’t even get hard anymore. His hardness was a protest of his body against the abuse, but he didn’t have any power to protest, or resist, or object.  
  
***  
  
"Another tattoo?" Sheppard asked when guards forced his cuffed hands behind his head and tied up his elbows. "You guys fucked me for hours. Give me some rest."  
  
One of the guards laughed and slapped the small of his back. "Not today."  
  
Then strong hands walked him to the shower and next moment hot water fell on his worn out body. The cloth that was covering his eyes got soaked through. John felt a smell of soap, and the same strong hands started to wash the blood and semen from his thighs, moving around carefully.  
  
"I could’ve done it myself," Sheppard noted, but got no response. _Kolya,_ he thought. _It must be him._  
  
The hands dried him with a towel, and walked him to his cot. He was made to lie down on his side, and it was another body behind him.  
  
"Hey, what’s the idea?" Shepard began and sensed a hot thickness forcing its way deep into his ass. "Never mind. Gonna fuck me again?" John went quiet as both of the man’s hands made slow progress around his waist, and took a strong hold on John’s genitals.  
  
There was no answer. The cock in his ass was barely moving; the man wasn’t fucking him, but showing him _who the boss was._  
  
Sheppard sighed. There was nothing he could do about these new arrangements. He tried to ignore the wet blindfold covering his face, and the discomfort he felt at his groin, and let that slow motion in his ass rock him into sleep.  
  
The pain woke him up. Sheppard was on his knees in front of his cot, and his night visitor was fucking him. Hard. John struggled, and screamed, and swore, and felt his own cock getting harder and harder. The man finally pulled out and left the room, the guards came in and cut the plastic band tying Sheppard’s elbows. That was it – they left John alone for a full twelve hours.  
  
***  
  
Dex got his release and pulled out, giving his place to the next Marine. Sheppard gasped when the guy went in, but that was it. Ronon came closer, pushed himself between the wall and Sheppard’s body, brushed the Marines hand away from John’s balls. The Marine smiled with understanding, and got a tighter grip at Sheppard’s hips with both hands.  
  
Sheppard’s blindfolded face was so close now, Dex saw a stubble on his jaw, and how he twisted his bitten lips to hold back moans. Ronon wanted to talk to him, to ask about every bit of his feelings, to be very gentle and kind to him. Instead, Ronon put his left hand firmly at the back of Sheppard’s head, pressed the lips over his mouth, and shoved his tongue in.  
  
Dex was melting inside. With his mouth he felt John’s shock, and the strong blows of Marine’s dick in John’s ass. John’s manhood, hard again, was pressed against his crotch. And it was so good and so right to have his former boss like this, tied up and helpless, with his ass stretched with somebody else’s dick, with no other option but to respond to the kiss. And Sheppard did. After a minute of struggle, John relaxed and kissed him back, taking Ronon’s breath away.  
  
His head was spinning. _It was better than fucking him!_ It was an absolute power. At last Sheppard admitted his defeat, lowered all his flags.  
  
Ronon stayed there, between the wall and Sheppard, and kissed him through all the Marine’s activities that were scheduled for tonight. Drinking his pain, and his shame, and despair. Finally limp, Sheppard’s body slid against Ronon’s, and his head lay on Ronon’s shoulder.  
  
"Damn!" said the current Marine with annoyance, "Bastard didn’t let me finish."  
  
Dex took a key from the Marine, and unlocked the cuffs that were connecting Sheppard’s cuffs to the ring on the wall. He laid the body on the floor, and undid padded restraints on the man’s ankles. Then he took Sheppard in his arms and carried him to the cell and into the bathroom, and put him on the floor once again.  
  
Ronon knew that Sheppard will be out cold for hours. So he took the blindfold off, and looked at the sunken face of his friend for a long while. Next he turned the water on, and carefully, methodically washed Sheppard’s body, as if preparing him for the final rest. He shampooed John’s hair, and washed his face, neck, and chest, and the stomach, and the legs, and his feet, and the back, and the butt, the blood stains from his thighs, and the raw marks left by the handcuffs, and the _handcuffs_ , and John’s bruised genitals, and his long-suffering ass.  
  
Dex carried the unconscious prisoner to his cot, and covered him with a blanket like a corpse, head to toe. After all that he left the cell, never to come back again.  
  
***  
  
After a while Colonel Everett inquired about his sudden lack of interest toward the prisoner.  
  
"He poses no challenge anymore," Ronon shrugged.  
  
"Oh, I wish I had your confidence, Master Dex. I feel the boy has a _long way_ to go," Everett said with the sigh and walked away, still shaking his head.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"He told me that if I told anyone it’d change _nothing_. It’d cause nothing but confrontation among the humans. He had, and still has, enough manpower to run this place without Earth’s help. Enough firepower to take down Daedalus. So he gave me a choice – to leave, or to stay and follow orders. I stayed. If anyone is to win this war, it’d be him," Ronon nodded with a great conviction. "He is… one mad son of a bitch. But he’s good at what he does." Dex was silent for a while, then added almost in a whisper: "I failed you. I betrayed you."  
  
"No," Sheppard said. "Everett… planned to give me to his men from the very start. He’d have done it, had you tried to kill him or not. It was not your fault...I just wanted to ask – is he really a much better commander than me?"  
  
There was a single nod. "Yes. He knows how to organize things. This place is... much more efficient now. He knows how to _negotiate_. We cut down two thirds of the Gate travel, instead Everett employed a bunch of local folks to get him information. And he knows how to make them work. He knows how to make _everyone_ work. Even McKay doesn’t get carried away anymore. He even learned how to plan his own lab budget."  
  
Sheppard blinked: "Do you know what _‘budget’_ means?"  
  
"Yes," Dex said proudly. "Colonel Everett explained it to me. He is a good man, when he isn’t too busy."  
  
"Right." Sheppard was silent for a while, sipping the Champaign. Then he asked, not looking at his friend, "So you too believe that all I wanted is to be a top dog?"  
  
Ronon shrugged. "You did."  
  
"Not now."  
  
"Yes, not now." Dex stared at the ocean through the green glass of the bottle.  
  
"Look at me."  
  
Ronon turned his head.  
  
"You know what?" Sheppard was smiling his old smile. " _We gonna win that war._ I don’t know how, I don’t know when. _I don’t care who is in charge_. But we gonna win, and sure as hell I’m gonna be in the middle of that. Will you join me, Master Dex?"  
  
Ronon didn’t smile. "Sure as hell," he said and returned to observing the ocean through the green of his bottle.


	4. The Sum of Parts - 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very grateful to an_kayoh for editing this chapter.

 

___________________________________________

"… he lived for a few years and in that time he learned that the world is all of one piece. He learned that the world is like an enormous spider web and if you touch it…"

Robert Penn Warren  
______________________________________________________________

  
  
  
  
  
  
"I can’t spar with you. My style is different. I use my strength and my weight a lot – and you don’t have either of them now. We need somebody _lighter_."  
  
Dex’s eyes trailed toward the gym entrance. John followed his gaze. Two guards - tall, but slender like Abyssinian cats, were leaning against the walls at both sides of the doorway.  
  
"No way," Sheppard whispered in panic. "They… they wouldn’t consider me a…"  
  
"Don’t think of them as human. _Because they’re not_."  
  
"Then who’re they?" John said angrily, "Evil robots?"  
  
"I don’t know what robot is. But they’re not _evil_. The way the Wraith are not evil."  
  
"Yeah. So you killed great many of them because you’re not fond of their hair color."  
  
"I kill Wraith because they destroyed my people. Not because they’re evil. Now, look at those guys."  
  
Sheppard looked. The guards looked back.  
  
And suddenly it came to him, John understood what Dex was talking about. All that stuff that made a human, well, _human_ – arrogance, prejudice, pride, jealousy, vanity, self-importance – was not there! And never was.  
  
Sheppard thought that enough pain could probably make any of them beg for mercy, _but no torture would make them look down upon the other man_.  
  
The guards looked at him. There was neither disgust nor disdain in their eyes. They were simply assessing the amount of threat he could pose.  
  
"You can read their minds, Sheppard," Ronon was standing right behind his shoulder. "Go and win."  
  
John kept staring.  
  
Tilly, easy to smile, who won more by agility and stamina than by actual strength. Rush, unpredictable like a squirrel, not knowing where it’ll jump next – technique very poor against incoming traffic, but superb against a live predator.  
  
The Marines moved simultaneously. Tilly made two dancing steps to the right, and stopped, leaving most of his weight on his left foot. Rush glided to the left and farther from John, closer to the wall.  
  
Realization came as a shock – Sheppard knew every move they would make a second before it happened! Suddenly he remembered Everett’s words: _‘Your body is not a sum of parts – it’s a whole thing. It doesn’t invent a bicycle every time it needs to move. If you know how the guy talks – you know how he walks, drives and shoots.’_  
  
John had a tremendous advantage against those Marines. He knew how they fucked, so he knew _everything_ about them. And they knew nothing about him.  
  
***  
  
That was why John was still standing when Everett stopped by to check how the training session was going.  
  
"What the hell you think you’re doing?" the colonel growled.  
  
Both Marines stood to attention. Sheppard seized the opportunity, and his closest sparring partner, who happened to be Tilly, went to the floor his back first. The Marine scrambled to his feet, not taking his eyes from the commanding officer.  
  
"What were your orders?" the colonel’s voice was dangerously calm.  
  
"It was my fault," Dex rumbled. "I asked them to help me."  
  
"He says he’s too heavy, sir," Tilly explained in a very small voice, and shot Ronon a ‘thank you’ glance.  
  
Everett showed his teeth in mirthless smile: "You know how much I hate that _‘he did it’_ attitude."  
  
He grabbed Tilly by the front of his t–shirt and shoved him back first against the wall. The entire move of the old Marine was so effortless as if the other man weighed nothing.  
  
"Sir…" there was a plea in Tilly’s voice. "I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to…"  
  
Everett gripped his opponent’s jaw, brought his face close and whispered: "You think I don’t know who dialed the Gate for Teyla to escape?"  
  
Tilly’s expression didn’t change, but his eye-pupils dilated in horror. "Sir."  
  
"Did you really think I’m that stupid?"  
  
"No, sir." The Marine didn’t dare to breathe.  
  
"It was my niece who planned it. And it was McKay who wiped out the dialing record. You know I wouldn’t raise a hand to protect myself, if Kitten decides to kill me. And without McKay this… enterprise is as good as lost. But you, my little friend, are very much expendable. You’re so _expendable_ , that I’d advise you to check very carefully where your loyalty truly lies, before disobeying _any more_ of my orders."  
  
"Yes, sir. It’s just…"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I knew you’d find out, sir. I didn’t want you to get involved with that… I didn’t want you…"  
  
"Don’t you dare," the colonel hissed. "In my entire life I haven’t harmed a single woman, and you know that."  
  
"Yes, sir. But I thought…"  
  
"You have nothing to think _with_!" Everett shoved the Marine’s head into the wall. Tilly whimpered.  
  
Next the colonel turned Tilly’s head to the left, then to the right, assessing the damage left by an unauthorized sparring session. Abrasion on the cheek–bone, decently sized bruise on the jaw. "Go to Beckett’s and ask him to patch you as good as he can. And if by this evening you aren’t in good shape, I don’t know what am going to do with you."  
  
The colonel let go of Tilly’s chin. The Marine carefully slid along the wall out of his reach, turned and ran for his life.  
  
"Brainless scum," Everett shook his head and looked at the rest of the men.  
  
"Dismissed," he scowled at Rush who was still standing to attention. The Marine followed his colleague with haste agreeable with his nickname.  
  
"It was a good thinking, Master Dex. Decide which boys do you want for these lessons and I’ll give them to you."  
  
Ronon nodded.  
  
"Now you," the colonel looked at Sheppard, thoughtful expression on his face. "Giving you to the guards is a waste of man-power. I’m changing conditions of your parole. From now on you’re on your own. But please… don’t do anything _stupid_."  
  
***  
  
"Stop fussing over me! I’m not _sick_!" Sheppard was panting. He bent forward and rested his hands on his knees.  
  
Dex looked at his back with unreadable expression. "You will be, if you continue to push yourself like this. Your body needs food and rest, as much as it needs exercise."  
  
"I’m not tired," Sheppard was still out of breath.  
  
"My orders are to get you in shape. I will do whatever is necessary to comply with those orders. If I need to tie you up to make you rest – I will."  
  
"Blah, blah, blah…" said Sheppard without looking at him.  
  
Dex took John firmly by the shoulder and made him stand up.  
  
"You don’t believe me?" he inquired calmly, his hand slowly tightening the grasp on the shoulder of his former boss.  
  
Sheppard swallowed. He suddenly realized that Dex was telling the truth. That he was perfectly capable of overpowering him, tying him up, and… John felt his mouth went dry. He trusted the man, but… he had no authority over him anymore.  
  
Dex felt a shudder go through Sheppard’s body. He smiled. "That’s better. Go take a shower, then come to the mess hall. I’ll teach you how to eat." He wanted to add _‘that’s an order_ ’, but didn’t. He knew that was enough for now. That Sheppard wouldn’t dare to disobey him.  
  
***  
  
John looked at his food–tray in horror. There was a mountain of mashed potatoes. Two large steaks. An avalanche of blue jello. It was impossible to stuff all that into one man without rupturing his stomach.  
  
Dex bent over the table, took the plastic knife and fork from Sheppard’s hands and put them down. "Now, eat."  
  
"How?" John tried to pick up the utensils, but Ronon didn’t let him.  
  
"Show me your hands."  
  
Sheppard obeyed.  
  
"Clean enough," was the verdict. "Eat."  
  
Sheppard tried to lift a steak by the corner, but dropped it back on the tray.  
  
Dex sighed. Then he rose to his feet, towering over his friend, reached and firmly placed his hand at the back of Sheppard’s head. John’s entire body tensed, and he looked up at his friend in horror, not knowing what exactly frightened him.  
  
Ronon guessed at once that Sheppard’s body _recognized_ him. But Sheppard’s brain, his pathetic, blind, little brain didn’t let that knowledge to surface, to take a conscious shape. It was such a delight to keep his former boss like this, suspended in horror between the knowledge of his body and the refusal of his brain. It felt almost as good as keeping Sheppard between somebody’s dick and his kiss. Ronon made John get up, and pulled at the back of his head, until their foreheads touched.  
  
"Sheppard. Fifty men… had their way with you, but you still afraid to put a little grease on you face. How stupid is that?"  
  
Dex let go and sat back at his chair. Sheppard sat too, still confused, and gave his friend a very long uncertain stare. Then he threw back his head and laughed – openly, freely.  
  
"Damn you, man. But you’re right."  
  
***  
  
Sheppard was surprised how fast his body was healing. He had no other assignments but to get back in shape, so he invested all his time into sleep-eat-exercise routine.  
  
Now he could easily keep up with Dex during their evening and morning crosses. Damn, that man was good! Ten years younger too. But he had other duties, and by the evening he was tired, so Sheppard was closer and closer to outrunning him.  
  
He sparred with anyone who would spar with him, and lost more often than won, but day by day he felt how the strength and agility return to him.  
  
A couple times he saw Everett in the shadow of the gym doorway, looking at him with inscrutable expression.  
  
Then the day came, when he won. He knocked one of the Marines half unconscious, and held the other one down, twisting his arm so it almost touched the back of the man’s head.  
  
 _‘Clap. Clap. Clap.’_  
  
Sheppard looked up – Everett was standing at the entrance, smiling. Only now John realized what that expression on the colonel’s face was. Not curiosity, no. Fondness. Sheppard was so surprised that he lost a grip on the Marine’s hand. The guy used that immediately to his advantage – twisted his hand free, hit Sheppard in the ribs with the elbow and rolled away, out of his reach.  
  
"Lazy butts," Everett commented looking at the Marines with disdain. Both of them were on their feet already.  
  
"That’s unfair, sir," grumbled Rush, rubbing his arm. "That bastard just eats and sleeps. He’s fat like a seal! And we have to work all day!"  
  
Everett chuckled: "Shame on you, boy. He’s fifteen years older."  
  
"Yeah. Youth is a great advantage when I spar with you, sir!"  
  
Angel Eyes, the Marine John just knocked out, laughed.  
  
Sheppard always felt… jealous when one of those boys laughed – so full of life, humor and delight that laughter was.  
  
"That’s a good idea, actually," said Everett and unbuttoned his jacket. "Let see what works better – youth or experience."  
  
The colonel’s style was somewhat similar to Ronon’s. Everett was lighter, but he was at least as strong as the big guy.  
  
Sheppard felt… cold. By now he was so used to his ability to predict the other man’s moves, that it frightened him to realize that the colonel was a white spot. No – an empty spot.  
  
Everett laughed, looking at the confused expression of his opponent. "I told you, I don’t give a fuck for schedules."  
  
A couple of minutes later he was sitting on Sheppard’s back, holding both of Sheppard’s thumbs in one hand, one of his knees keeping Sheppard’s head down. Everett laughed again and slapped John’s butt with his free hand.  
  
At that very moment Sheppard realized that all that parole nonsense was just a dream, a little trick his exhausted brain had played on him. He felt the side of the table cutting his thighs, and the colonel’s cock filling his ass, moving slowly, back and forth. Sounds went thick and low, a dull pain in his twisted arms didn’t bother him anymore, and the world turned around him like a Ferris wheel of lights and shadows.  
  
***  
  
He woke up to a sharp pain in his mouth.  
  
"Ouch!" John’s eyes flew open. Someone shook him so hard he had bit his tongue. "Sir? Sir!"  
  
"Oh." Everett looked at his face, and stopped shaking him.  
  
The gym was empty. The colonel was standing on his knees, firmly holding Sheppard by the shoulders.  
  
"What happened, sir?"  
  
"That’s what I want to know – _what happened_? You fainted on me!"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I don’t kn…" Everett looked aside and back at him. "Me and my big lying mouth," he tried to smile. "Listen… I didn’t mean to. It was just a game."  
  
He let go of John’s shoulders, got to his feet and stalked out of the gym.  
  
Sheppard sat on the floor for a while, looking down the empty doorway.  
  
***  
  
Sheppard didn’t know, why winning in those sparring sessions was so important to him. May be it was due to lack of any other assignments – he wanted that the only activity he was allowed to participate in would have some meaning. So he started to get injures, and more and more often his sparring partners had to bother Beckett after the fights.  
  
Dex observed Sheppard’s workouts with growing concern. Yes, Sheppard got stronger by the day, but the better he got physically, the more clear it became that something important was amiss. It seemed as if Sheppard’s body, which suffered so much because of the flaws of his brain, decided to shut it down, to push it away from the controls. It wasn’t _‘oh, I couldn’t help it’_ attitude, it was _‘I wonder what happens if I would do just that…’_ And it was impossible to predict what sort of ‘that’ it would be next.  
  
Three Athosians were hanging on Sheppard’s shoulders, trying to hold him down. There was a short cry, and one of the men went down, the second one covered his face, the blood streaming through his fingers, then Dex heard the little twig–snap noise and the last guy sat on the floor, his arm twisted at sickening angle, the color is draining from his face.  
  
Dex growled and stepped on the mats. Sheppard turned to face him. There was something animal-like in his movements, ready and wary, something wild. Like a spider or an Iratus bug, his former boss was assessing his new victim.  
  
The two men stared at each other for a while, not moving.  
  
"What are you doing?" Dex asked quietly, as Athosians helped each other from the floor, and left the gym, giving Sheppard strange glances.  
  
Sheppard raised his eyebrows and granted Ronon the cutest of smiles. "What?"  
  
"Sit," Dex commanded in a flat voice.  
  
The smile left Sheppard’s face, but he was still standing.  
  
"Sit down," Dex repeated even more quietly.  
  
Sheppard stared at him for a while, then lowered his head and crouched down, hugging one raised knee, somewhat Wraith–like.  
  
Dex’s hand went blurry – wham! – John’s head moved side to side, but he didn’t say a word and didn’t look up.  
  
"What the fuck is wrong with you, Sheppard?" Dex growled.  
  
John slowly rubbed his mistreated ear. "I just want to win. I want it so badly," he sighed and looked up, "that I’d rather die than lose. Do you understand? Only when you fight as if it’s the last battle in your life, you can win _every time_! It’s just… I’m ready to die every time I fight, and they aren’t."  
  
"It was just a sparring," Ronon shrugged. "Just a game."  
  
"Not for me," John wanted to get to his feet, but glanced at Dex’s face and stayed put. Suddenly he felt so tired. So sleepy. "Can I borrow your blanket?"  
  
He wasn’t going to visit his quarters. Not now. That place was a… trap. He couldn’t sleep there. Everyone would know that he was there, in the trap. Anyone could come, and grab him, and tie him up, and…  
  
Dex didn’t ask anything, just nodded.  
  
***  
  
John found a balcony – sharp, salty wind blowing from the west, sun still high in the sky – a good five hours before sunset.  
  
Sheppard went to a quiet corner, somewhat sheltered from the wind, put blanket on the floor, curled on the half of it, covered himself with another half and slept.  
  
Something soft and heavy hit him. John yelped and scrambled to his feet, his back to the wall.  
  
Everett was looking at him, leaning back against the balcony railing, resting his elbows on the top bar. "Didn’t I warn you not to do anything stupid?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"You’ll catch a pneumonia sleeping like that. Which qualifies as _stupid_. Want to be locked up again?"  
  
"No, sir."  
  
"Fresh air is a wonderful thing, but do be so kind as to use proper gear." Everett made a gesture with his head and John realized what had woken him up – he had been hit with rolled up heavy duty sleeping bag. "And what’s wrong with sleeping in your quarters again?"  
  
"Noth…" Sheppard stopped himself just in time. That was a lie, and lies were forbidden.  
  
Everett cocked his head to one side. "Yes?"  
  
"It’s my dreams."  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Every time I try to sleep in my quarters I see the Wraith. Hundreds of them, entire Hive. They…" his voice trailed off.  
  
"Fuck you taking turns?" Everett was grinning now.  
  
Sheppard moved his head, without looking at him.  
  
"Are they any good?" the colonel laughed.  
  
John glared at his opponent: "Better than you."  
  
"That’s ‘better than you, sir,’" the old Marine bit his lip, but couldn’t help laughing.  
  
"I resigned!" Sheppard growled.  
  
"Tsk, tsk, not until I say so," Everett shook the finger on him. "Anyway, that was just plain rude. You forgot your place again, boy. I decided not to break you – and this is the thanks I get? On your knees." There was no change in Everett’s tone, level and even.  
  
John felt shivers ran down his spine. "Sir," he said, "sir."  
  
"Do you want to add insubordination to insolence? As far as I recall, punishment for insubordination is a bit harsher."  
  
 _If I push him over the rail, no one will ever find out,_ thought Sheppard, and saw how Everett grinned in anticipation of his next move.  
  
Yes, no one would find out if he succeeded. But he wouldn’t succeed. Instead in about quarter an hour from now he’d be lying face down on the table in the interrogation room, tied up and blindfolded, with somebody’s cock in his ass, and very much possibly, another one in his mouth. Facing an infinite whirlpool of very rude fucking.  
  
The two men kept a status quo for a minute, then Sheppard went to his knees, his head down, his hands hanging at the sides of his body.  
  
"Why so tragic, boy?" the colonel chuckled, and walked to stand in front of him. "You did it before and survived. Go on, you know what to do."  
  
Sheppard unbuckled the other man’s belt, and unzipped his pants, and pulled down his boxers. Then he took the soft cock in his mouth, and started to work on it, like he had many times before, making Everett hard.  
  
"You were born for this, boy," the colonel growled, grabbing a handful of John’s hair. "But you should’ve learned by now that your thoughts are very easy to guess. For instance now you’re thinking of biting down, and shoving me over the rail."  
  
No, John wanted to say, but it sounded more like ‘aouh’.  
  
"If you try to do it, I…" the colonel continued and John felt how the colonel’s cock went hard in his mouth. "No, not that… I’d rather…"  
  
It was so weird to be fucked under open sky and not in a safe confinement of his cell. During his imprisonment John did it many times – sucked on Everett’s cock, making him hard, after which the colonel fucked his ass. Sheppard felt a familiar pressure, burn of initial penetration, then his ass was stretched to the limit with Everett’s cock. John grunted and shifted his thighs a little. The colonel was a big man, so presence of his member, lubed only with Sheppard’s saliva, was very… noticeable, even if the old Marine wasn’t rough on him. The sensation of the colonel’s cock in his ass was so… real, that Sheppard moved his hands to protect his butt.  
  
Everett saw that. "Not today, boy. Keep working."  
  
John knew that it couldn’t be, that Everett was still in his mouth, but he had the distinct feeling that the colonel was fucking his ass, here and now. Sheppard didn’t know which one of them was real anymore. He gasped and tried to pull away.  
  
"Oh, what’s wrong with you?" Everett growled and moved his hips, sending his member deep into John’s throat.  
  
The colonel was still holding his head by the hair, so Sheppard couldn’t escape. He coughed and gagged, tears running from his eyes, but he didn’t dare to raise his hands to push the other man away.  
  
Everett fucked him, hard and long. Finally warm and thick saltiness hit the back of John’s throat and flooded his mouth. As always when that happened Sheppard thought he’d suffocate, but Everett pulled out and grabbed his jaw.  
  
"Swallow," he ordered.  
  
John looked up at his torturer through the tears, feeling how the semen starting to leak from the corners of his mouth. He had never been ordered to swallow it before! He probably swallowed some once in a while – but not like this. Sheppard felt he was about to be sick.  
  
"Swallow, or I’ll fuck you till you’re dead," Everett said quietly, not losing his grip on Sheppard’s jaw.  
  
There was no escape. John made an effort, and swallowed. It wasn’t even that bad.  
  
"Now, clean me up."  
  
Sheppard looked at the other man’s face, not sure if he heard him correctly.  
  
"That’s right. Do it."  
  
First Sheppard licked his own lips, cleaning them from the colonel’s discharge, then carefully, methodically licked all around Everett’s genitals, and his balls, and took his cock in the mouth again, making sure it was all clean.  
  
"Good boy," said Everett and tucked himself back into his pants. "Was that moment of pride really worth it?"  
  
John thought about it, his jaw aching from the hard fucking, the salty taste of the colonel’s semen still in his mouth.  
  
"I don’t know, sir," he said finally. "Sometimes I think I’d rather die, than do what I just did."  
  
"Agree," Everett nodded, looking at the top of Johns head, then walked to the rail and leaned against it, resting his elbows on the top bar once again. "Fast and easy death – yes. But I will not let you die fast and easy. Your death will be long, painful, and very humiliating. What I did to you was just a tiny droplet in the ocean of things that could be done to a man’s body before he’s dead. So unless you planning to kill yourself… are you?"  
  
John shook his head.  
  
"Good. Then the best course of actions for you is to follow all my orders. Next time you try to act out I’ll do something really nasty to you. Is that understood?"  
  
"Yes, sir." Sheppard was still standing on his knees.  
  
"Get up," said Everett and continued, after Sheppard got to his feet. "Forgot to tell. Your retirement papers are here – stop by my place tomorrow, you need to sign a couple of forms."  
  
John wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then absentmindedly cleaned his hand on his pants. "Retirement? But I have two more years before…"  
  
The colonel chuckled: "Ms. Weir is… on rather friendly terms with the President. And that woman acts like a bull terrier, when it comes to protecting your honor. So they gave you three years for the one in Atlantis. _Cheats_. Well, retiring as a Major is not the best career move, but you keep your pension, and your benefits, and all that other crap. However, if you think it gives you the right to be ill-mannered…"  
  
"No, sir."  
  
"No hard feelings?"  
  
John walked to the balcony rail and put his hands on it, looking at the ocean horizon. _If I just grab his feet and… the rail is not that high…_  
  
"Stop it," Everett smiled, giving him a sidelong glance. "Even if you succeed hauling me over the rail, which you wouldn’t, _I wouldn't die_ ," the old Marine leaned farther back and looked down over his elbow. "It’s less than 200 feet to the water, and no obstacles. I was very good with parachute jumping in my day."  
  
Sheppard said nothing. He felt again the movement of the colonel’s cock inside him, sure and content. John made a small sound and bent forward, putting his forearms on the rail. _Son of a bitch manages to do me without even touching me._  
  
"Don’t fight it," Everett said quietly. "It’ll go away. I didn’t come here to humiliate you, but I had to punish you for your misconduct. I hope you realize that what I did to you was necessary."  
  
Sheppard thought of it for a while, grimacing and biting his lip, for the imaginary colonel became rather harsh on him.  
  
"I should hate you," he said after a long silence. "All of you. But I can’t. Why?"  
  
"Because you’re in love."  
  
Sheppard turned his head, not knowing should he believe his ears or not.  
  
"You’re in love with this city," the colonel continued. "And you know you were hurting it… _her_ on every turn."  
  
"It’s not true!"  
  
"You don’t care about Atlantis?"  
  
"I do! But I didn’t…"  
  
"Come on," Everett interrupted. "One day, when I’m less busy, I’ll pull all the records, sit with you, and show you the every mistake you made. I hope you’re not going to blame the weak, not very competent, and even less so smart woman for your misconduct? Because you were behind the every dubious decision she made!"  
  
"I did what I could! Sir. And in very difficult circumstances, too."  
  
"How many men did you lose?" Everett’s voice suddenly became very–very flat.  
  
Sheppard glared at him, saying nothing.  
  
"I lost three," the colonel continued, and Sheppard felt a tremor went down the rail, like an echo of a distant earthquake. "Two weeks from my arrival I lost three of Marsh’s Marines. _Your_ Marines. And you know why? Because they _forgot how to trust their commander._ They were neglected for so long that they forgot that the orders must be obeyed. They decided to act on their own accord. To be heroes." Everett closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. "That was the day when I gave you to my men. Instead of killing you."  
  
John bent even lower and put his forehead to the cold rail between his forearms. "You should’ve killed me," he whispered. "I can’t bring them back. I can’t bring _any_ of them back."  
  
"I know," Everett’s voice was soft. "You have no talent for operating a large facility. You did what you did not because of deliberate negligence, but because of certain personality flaws. That’s one of the reasons I didn’t kill you."  
  
"You planned. You planned to fuck me for a while, then torture me to death, and get rid of my body."  
  
Everett thought about that. Then he sighed. "Tilly. I’ll skin that bastard. And nail his perfect tawny hide to the wall in front of the Gate."  
  
"That means it wasn’t true?"  
  
"That means I’m gonna thrash one of my men." The colonel was silent for a while. "It was true all right. But I changed my mind."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because no meat should be wasted. You know, when my niece looked at you year and a half ago, she said to herself ‘what a pile of trash’."  
  
"She doesn’t even know me! She never even talked to me… before that day…" Sheppard straitened up, looking at his former CO.  
  
"She wasn’t _incorrect_ in her judgment. When I looked at you three months ago, I said to myself the same thing. But my niece is a book-worm – if she can avoid dealing with people, she would. Big devotee of vending-machines – she’d rather eat crap from the machine, than make an eye-contact with a guy who sells a good stuff. So she never spent a second minute looking at you, she just averted her eyes, and shook her paws like a cat who stepped into filth.  
  
"I, on the other hand, have worked with people my entire life. I know that every one of my boys is a living, breathing thing, and not… an impurity of my imagination. All right, I can’t make those perfect 12 ounce steaks for multimillion-dollar restaurant out of you. But if I can make a decent stew for a family owned bed and breakfast – I’m not going to throw you away!  
  
"You know what she wanted me to do? My anti-sadist, all-morals niece? ‘Send him to Earth,’ she told me. ‘Just make sure he can’t harm anyone anymore’."  
  
Sheppard swallowed.  
  
***  
  
"Where have you been?"  
  
Everett thought she was going to cry. Only she didn’t. He had never seen her cry. Not even after that fall from the horse – twenty years ago, when her little face was nothing but the mask of dirt and blood, and his only thought was ‘sis’s gonna kill me for this’. He wasn’t scared for the girl, for he considered those ninety pounds of skin and bones more durable than himself, a twenty-nine year old Marine, but he dreaded the moment when the girl’s mom, carefully choosing words and not looking at him, would send him away forever.  
  
"Where have you been? That… _thing_ is going around, smiling like he's won a million bucks! And you’re doing nothing about it! What are you grinning at? Eh? Did they tell you that it was him who put a bullet through Marsh’s heart? No? Now you know. So go and _do something about it_!"  
  
***  
  
" _Genotype_ , she said," Everett looked up, at brutally blue zenith. "Nothing you can do. Not without that Beckett’s virus. _Thing_ , she said. Just like that. I see you understand, boy. ‘Send him home, make sure he gets his dishonorable discharge’ – that’s what it was! Which means no _flying. Ever._ "  
  
"No," Sheppard whispered, shaking his head. "Sir. No. Please…"  
  
"Of course not. I’m not sending you anywhere. Not with all that time and _manpower_ I’ve invested in you. She didn’t want you suffer, but the problem is – she never bothered to _understand_ you. You know what she sees when she looks at you? Forty year old guy, who behaves as if he is in his teens, ‘oh, where is my mirror,’ with a miserable, pathetic, backwoods sadist personality, who’s never ever had a spec of remorse about anything he’s ever done."  
  
"That’s not true! My… social skills may be poor, but that’s not me!"  
  
"That is you. But you know what I see, when I look at you?" Everett smiled. It was a soft, good natured smile. "A hell of a pilot. A perfect team leader. A good friend. A naturally likable person – magnificent quality for negotiations. A very _lonely_ person, who’d rather risk his life for someone than let them close."  
  
Everett reached with his hand and patted John on the small of his back.  
  
"What am I to do with you, son? I thought all that fucking would shake you to the core. But you seem to like it."  
  
"I don’t. Sir."  
  
"Then why the fuck did you provoke me?"  
  
"I didn’t mean to."  
  
"Do you want to be locked up again?"  
  
"No, sir."  
  
"Then behave! I need you. With all that demilitarization… I suggested that we form one civilian team. Two aliens and two… Earthlings. And who’d be the better leader for such team than a retired military officer?"  
  
"Sir…"  
  
"You’re gonna fly again, boy. One condition – you must learn to respect the chain of command. I’m not faultless; I do make mistakes, though not as many as you do. I’ll listen to your suggestions, because I value your expertise. But if order is given, it _must_ be carried out. If you’re about to miss your highway exit, you better use the next one, than go across three lanes of traffic. That’s the same with orders. Do we have an understanding?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Good. For if you try to provoke me again, I’ll give you to the Wraith. I’ll tie you up and mail you through the gate to some Wraith inhabited planet, with the letter attached to your butt, suggesting that they should fuck you taking turns, before they eat you," there was a smile hidden in the colonel’s voice.  
  
"You wouldn’t, sir."  
  
"True. But a couple of days ago I talked to the Genii representative, and we found quite a few _common interests_. And what I _would_ do, I would certainly employ expertise of that Genii officer in your case. That guy has… a delightfully unusual sense of humor."  
  
Sheppard knew that this time it wasn’t a joke. "I’ll do my best not to disappoint you, sir."  
  
"Good."  
  
"Sir… may I ask you something?"  
  
"Please, do."  
  
"How did you find me here?"  
  
"Oh, that…" the Colonel gave his former prisoner a contemplative look. "I implanted a tracking device in one of your bones. When you were unconscious. In case I need you for some _interesting_ assignment."  
  
Everett looked at the hopeless expression on John’s face and chuckled: "Oh, don’t be a moron, Sheppard. Your life-sign was the only one up here." With those words he turned around and strolled away.  
  
Sheppard picked up Dex’s blanket, wrapped it around himself, unrolled the sleeping bag, crawled inside and slept, listening to the wind and sound of the waves far below.  
  
***  
  
Dex was scared. Not scared–scared, but… Oh, why had he agreed to this fight? He saw it coming, but agreed anyway. May be he _wanted_ Sheppard to _know_?  
  
Now he was looking at his former friend, at his former team leader, and didn’t know what to do. Sheppard just bit him. Bit his neck where it joined to the shoulder, and jumped away, a happy animal. He was smiling that new smile of his, brainlessly joyful and feverishly bright, licking Dex’s blood from his teeth. Totally oblivious that his own blood was running from his split eyebrow, down his cheek, dripping from his jaw.  
  
There were very few changes Sheppard could notice in himself, and he didn’t realize how much the imprisonment actually transformed him. But Dex saw it all. The fear of closing doors – Ronon saw how Sheppard froze and got a little paler every time a door closed behind him. The fits of sleepiness and insomnia randomly distributed throughout the day. The set of _lairs_ – weird places where Sheppard slept to avoid his quarters – the top of the gym lockers was one of his favorites. The cheerful brutality with which he treated his sparring partners – Everett’s Marines, former Sumner’s Marines and Teyla’s people alike.  
  
The creature that left the torture chamber wasn’t the man Ronon followed to Atlantis. It had Sheppard’s body, but all those tiny parts of his soul clattered around, misplaced and broken…  
  
***  
  
It happened a couple of days after his arrival to Atlantis. It wasn’t even his fault – one of the geeks put a laptop too close to the table edge. It was basically hanging over. So no wonder that the man of his proportions, who spent last seven years in vast outdoors, was a little clumsy in a lab environment.  
  
He crouched, and lifted the thing from the floor. There wasn’t a scratch on it, but the screen didn’t light up anymore, and Ronon heard the fine rattle of tiny loose parts inside the machine. Next moment the little fat man came running toward him, and it was so much noise, so many words…  
  
"Mammoths shouldn’t be allowed in the lab! Except in formalin jars!"  
  
 _What are mammoths? And formalin_?  
  
Ronon raised his eyes at the yelling man, and offered him the device he held in his hands, feeling again the minute clatter of the loose bits under his fingers.  
  
"It fell," he said quietly.  
  
The guy suddenly looked guilty. "Put it down. Put it down, it’s dead!"  
  
***  
  
That was exactly the thing Ronon felt right now – a quiet rattle of loose parts.  
  
Dex guessed that Sheppard wasn’t aiming to win or die. Not this time. Sheppard’s body was trying to _kill_ Ronon, to take his life as a ransom for pain and humiliation he caused, but Sheppard’s brain simply decided to ignore it. Sheppard didn’t know what he was doing, same way he didn’t know what Ronon did to him.  
  
Now Sheppard was too fast, and too strong for Dex to disregard the threat. Ronon almost never thought in words, so he didn’t know how to talk that brightly smiling thing out of it. There was no escape – Dex had to fight to kill, or allow the beast to take his life.  
  
Ronon moved. He knocked his opponent off his feet, but Sheppard twisted in the air and landed on all four like a cat. So Dex used the only advantage he had left – his weight. He pressed Sheppard’s body down flat, trapping one of his arms underneath of his body, caught the wrist of the other arm, and grabbed Sheppard’s hair with his free hand.  
  
Sheppard struggled like an animal, growling, and hissing, and trying to bite his opponent again. Finally he yelled:  
  
"You’re like the rest of them! You just want to fuck me, that’s all!"  
  
Ronon froze. He knew that it would be the easiest way to bring the beast to obedience – fuck him. Here and now.  
  
"Yes," he said calmly, almost touching Sheppard’s ear with his lips. "That’s what I always wanted. That is why I came after you here, to Atlantis."  
  
It was a moment of awkward silence. Then the body underneath him relaxed, and Dex heard a voice he hadn’t hoped to hear again. The voice the old Sheppard.  
  
"Liar," and, "get off me, you gorilla."  
  
Dex didn’t move.  
  
"I saw Teyla during the last mission. She is coming back. You’re my friend, Sheppard, but if you give her one wrong glance, I’ll break both of your legs."  
  
***  
  
 _They must’ve drugged me_ , Sheppard thought, nauseous and dizzy. He was on his knees in front of his bed – he could feel its soft edge with his thighs. Somebody pulled his t–shirt up, and over his head, undressing him. It was too dark to see who it was, the guy who pulled his arms behind his back and tied his wrists with that t-shirt. Or may be the drug they gave him made him blind. John wondered about that lazily, and was idly amazed how reliable those t–shirt bonds were. One had a chance to untie a rope, but that soft, stretchy material was ideal if you manage to pull it tight enough. It was tight enough – John couldn’t move his wrists even a bit.  
  
Next a rolled up towel was pressed against his lips. The guy who was doing it to him pulled at the ends so hard that Sheppard thought he is going to snap his neck. John locked his jaws and tried to shake his head, but it was no use. He felt the men’s palm over his face, covering his nose. After a short struggle Sheppard had to open his mouth and take the towel in his teeth, the guy pulled even harder and tied the ends at the back of John’s neck. _You don’t have to do this_ , Sheppard thought. _I have no one to call for help_.  
  
Then it was all the usual – the man undid Sheppard’s belt and pulled his pants and boxers down to his knees, then pushed him face down on the bed. John felt familiar pressure, heaviness, fullness.  
  
The feeling was bordering on pain, and John moaned in protest, but it wasn’t that unpleasant. It wasn’t unpleasant when the man started to fuck him slowly and tenderly. John’s body didn’t want to struggle, it wanted to relax, to accept the reality as it was. That submissiveness scared the hell out of Sheppard. _That’s it,_ he thought. _That’s it. I’m nothing but a whore_.  
  
Two strong hands kept his hips at place, and that large cock filled him up nicely. He knew that there was nothing he could do to escape, that in this drugged state he was no stronger than a kitten, that it wasn’t his fault.  
  
 _This is wrong_ , Sheppard thought. _I shouldn’t let him just do this to me._ He suddenly jerked his body sideways, hoping to get from the line of fire. The grip on his hips tightened, and that truncheon went as deep into his ass as it could.  
  
The man almost pulled out, then slammed in, all the way, with excruciating force. John moaned angrily and bit the rough, soaked with saliva cloth in his mouth. He tried to get rid of the gag, but that towel was tied so tightly, he couldn’t even move his jaw. The man pulled back, and went in, again, and again, and again, faster and rougher with every move. The burning in John’s torn ass became unbearable. With every thrust the man’s body collided with Johns butt, making the sound of quiet applause, or of a raw steak hitting the cutting board. Every time the man pushed forward John could feel the guy’s balls touching him. Somehow it made the entire thing worse.  
  
 _Stop! Stop it!_ Sheppard wanted to scream, but all he could do was: _Mh! Mmmh!_  
  
His torturer was grunting quietly with every thrust, his cock going back and forth smoothly, lubed with John’s blood. The image of his assaulted butt floated into the Sheppard’s vision, and he couldn’t scare it away, doesn’t matter how hard he tried. He felt and saw the man’s cock sliding half–out, smeared with blood, enormously thick, rectangular, rather than round in cross-section. John couldn’t believe his body could accommodate that. It was a small pause, then that ‘six–by–four’ was forced in, stabbing John in the very softness of his body, deep, oh, so deep. ‘Clap’, and Sheppard felt the guys balls touched him again. Out–in, out–in, faster, and faster, and faster.  
  
Sheppard couldn’t control it anymore – he whimpered, tears filling his eyes, running down his face, soaking into the towel. His legs, tangled in his pants at the knees, were moving convulsively, pedaling back and forth, and his body was shaking so hard that he would break his teeth if it wouldn’t be for the gag.  
  
John felt that all those tears make him congested, it was difficult to breath, so he moaned helplessly, and moved his head a little, trying to easy the towel knot. He almost succeeded, but the guy noticed and pulled it even tighter. At this point Sheppard would scream, would beg, if he hadn’t been silenced so effectively. He tried to stop those tears, and breathe slowly, steadily. It was difficult, for the beat of the man’s cock in his ass was much faster than the breathing John could afford, but he knew that his torturer wouldn’t notice him suffocate until it’s too late, so he collected all his determination and slowed the pace of his breathing.  
  
Then it all stopped, as suddenly as it began. The guy pulled out without a release, and untied the towel. For a minute or so John was too busy breathing to wonder about what would happen next.  
  
But when Sheppard felt the guy tightening the knot on the t–shirt bonds, he knew that the procedure was far from over. Next the guy fumbled with his pants and John realized what it was – the man pulled on the belt, bringing John’s knees together and buckled it tight. Then Sheppard heard him spit, and two wet fingers brushed against John’s opening.  
  
"Please, no…" Sheppard whispered. "Ple… _Aouh_!"  
  
The guy was _in._ John could feel every inch of his bulk in the hot, sore tightness of his ass. His ass exploded in cascade of painful spasms, and his body, not under control of his brain anymore, twisted and trashed like worm on the hook, trying to protect itself from the next level of torture. The guy got tighter grip on John’s hips and started to move in and out. He had some difficulties in inserting himself all the way, so he wasn’t too fast at first. It required three very strong pushes before Sheppard felt a ‘touch–down’ of the guy’s balls.  
  
"Please…" Sheppard whispered. "If I did something bad to you – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…"  
  
Next moment the towel was pressed against John’s mouth. He shook his head violently, trying to buy a couple of seconds. "No! I’ll suffocate! Please, no. I’ll be quiet, I promise!" Next moment the towel was in his mouth, and the only thing he could do is to sink his teeth into it.  
  
 _Oh, gods_ , Sheppard thought ten minutes later, moaning with every thrust, arching his back and pulling on his ties. Now the man was hammering John’s ass as fast as before, his balls touching John’s body every time, marking the depth of penetration. Sheppard struggled, instinctively and unsuccessfully trying to spread his tied legs, then froze and relaxed his ass as much as he could, but that guy was way too big and fast for the relaxation to make any difference.  
  
John heard a little damp noise every time the man’s cock moved in or out, and felt warm wetness running down his thighs. _I must be bleeding pretty badly,_ Sheppard thought and tried to squeeze his butt cheeks together. But that couldn’t slow down the trouble, when it was already inside. And now it was coming in ‘threes’ – _one, two, three_ , pause… _one, two, three_ … pause.  
  
Sheppard felt the pain somewhere in the very depth of his body. That man apparently set his mind, if that was a mind, to hurt John as much as he could with his every move.  
  
 _One, two three… four, five, six._  
  
It was no pauses anymore. _Mh… mh… MMMH!_  
  
 _What do you want?_ Sheppard thought. _You want me to scream? To beg? I will. Take that towel off and I’d tell or do whatever you want._ John tried to pull his thighs under the bed, but it only added vigor to the blows he received. _‘I’m just a living thing,’_ Sheppard thought, _‘Have pity on me. At least tell me what did I do wrong?’_  
  
And Sheppard suddenly realized that he wished to be back in the safety of his cell, where Colonel Everett wouldn’t let anything like this happen to him. The old man wanted him to live and suffer, but this guy…  
  
Then it was over. The guy pulled out, and hauled Sheppard’s body around, holding him close. Next the invisible offender took the towel from the Sheppard’s mouth, and John felt the warmth of the man’s breath against his numb lips.  
  
 _"That’s what I always wanted. That is why I came after you here, to Atlantis,"_ the man whispered, and his kiss turned Sheppard’s terrified scream into a soft moan.  
  
***  
He trashed about and whimpered until he got the sleeping bag away from his face. It was dark, and distant stars twinkled in that darkness, forming alien constellations. There was wind – cold, salty wind and a roar of the ocean far below. John half–crawled out of his sleeping bag and looked around. He was on the one of Southern balconies. He sat for a while, not moving, thinking how enormous that sky really was – stars were all over it, in zenith, and touching the horizon, and tiny sparkles floating in the waves. It looked like this world was hugging him.  
  
It was just a dream. Not one of those Wraith dreams which had driven him away from his quarters, and in which he had to explain Dr. Weir why he surrendered some secret codes to the enemy. _‘It was so many of them, Elizabeth, they just wouldn’t stop…’_  
  
 _What codes?_ he thought bitterly. He was out of the loop for almost four months, all codes have been changed, and no one had given him the new ones.  
  
It was just a dream. But that dream finally put the smell, and the touch, and the _fucking style_ together with the voice and the face. Made his world… more whole, added one more bit to a jigsaw puzzle called John Sheppard.  
  
***  
  
Dex was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, by the door of his quarters.  
  
Sheppard crossed his hands in front of his chest, and leaned against the corridor wall, not coming any closer.  
  
"Waiting for me?" he said with false friendliness. "You chose the least likely place to catch me, buddy."  
  
Ronon didn’t look at him, just pushed himself up to his feet, his back sliding against the wall. "I checked the locker tops," he said quietly.  
  
"Uh huh. But you didn’t check Southern balconies, because you knew I’d be there."  
  
The Satedan said nothing.  
  
"You came to talk to me? Then talk."  
  
"I was one of them," said Ronon and turned to go away.  
  
"Tell me something I don’t know!" Sheppard sneered at his back.  
  
"How?" calmly, across the shoulder.  
  
"You shouldn’t have sparred with me. How stupid was that – I could see your every move!"  
  
"You lost."  
  
"Because you’re stronger than me, not because I couldn’t see you."  
  
Dex shrugged and made a move to leave.  
  
"Wait!" Sheppard growled. "At least tell me – why? What did I do to you to deserve that? You owe me an explanation!"  
  
Dex turned on the spot, his eyes glowing with madness. John realized that talking to Dex here, in this empty corridor was a mistake, but it was too late. Ronon was one foot away, and he put his palms to the wall, trapping Sheppard between his arms.  
  
"I am," Dex said and smiled, and put his left hand firmly at the back of Sheppard’s head, "stronger than you are."  
  
John’s body went rigid, cold wrapping in icy snakes around his spine. Ronon’s smile got broader. He put his other hand at Sheppard’s butt and pressed it rhythmically couple times, imitating small involuntary sound Sheppard usually made when he couldn’t bear the pain anymore.  
  
John said nothing, just kept looking him right in the eyes, trying to push away the sticky mist rising in his brain. His body was screaming in horror, giving him order to fight, to get away, but Sheppard knew he’d lose.  
  
Ronon gripped his face and ran his thumb against Sheppard’s lips. "You serviced them all," he said in satisfied voice. "Did they torture you to do this? Oh, no. They just gave you a little bit of fucking, that’s all." Dex’s thumb brushed against Sheppard’s lips again, back and forth. "Do you like to have a dick in your mouth, you little whore?"  
  
"No, I don’t," John said quietly. "You saw who was fucking me. One more hour of that and I’d be dead. And dying with somebody’s cock in my ass is not my idea of heroism."  
  
Dex grabbed Sheppard’s shoulder and hauled him around, face to the wall. One of Ronon’s arms wrapped around John’s waist, holding his hands to his sides, another went down, and Sheppard felt a firm grip on his crotch. Dex’s crotch was pressed against his butt. Even through the layers of cloth John could feel how hard his friend was.  
  
Sheppard’s head was spinning. He saw the wall so far away, as if he was floating somewhere around the ceiling.  
  
 _Oh, don’t you faint on me now, John, old buddy,_ he thought. Because he knew very well what will happen if he’d pass out. Dex’d take him into his quarters, and make John’s dream _come true_. Worse than that – he’d come back for more, and John would find no power to resist, to push him away. Dex will be coming back until he’ll make out of him what Colonel Everett decided not to – _a brainless whore._  
  
"Did you like me?" Ronon whispered into John’s ear, and moved his hips, bumping into the Sheppard’s rear.  
  
"No, I didn’t," John’s answer was quiet and sure. "I _hated_ you. You made me beg for mercy every time."  
  
"Every time you’ll try to give me order, you’ll remember that. You’ll remember my dick in your ass."  
  
"True," said Sheppard. "And you know what you’ll remember? That every time when I gave you an order you wanted to fuck me. But you didn’t. You followed my orders like a dog."  
  
Dex growled, and tightened his grip on John’s genitals.  
  
"You know what else you’ll remember?" Sheppard continued. "That you fucked me only when I was tied up and blindfolded. And you only fucked my ass, because you wouldn’t _dare_ to fuck my mouth."  
  
Dex’s hand left his crotch and stroked Sheppard’s jaw, from the temple to the chin. "That is the strongest muscle in human body," Dex said quietly.  
  
"Yes, exactly," Sheppard continued. "The old man thought I was a pile of garbage, so he tied me up and fucked me. And he did it looking me _right in the eyes_. He has more honesty at the tip of his fingernail, than you in your whole damned body!"  
  
John turned slowly in Dex’s arms to face him. "And you’ll remember that you didn’t dare to say a word while fucking me. Not one damned word – you’ll remember that."  
  
Sheppard’s face was so close, like that time, when Ronon kissed him to take away what was left of his freedom. But now Sheppard was looking him right in the eyes and smiling.  
  
Even through the material of John’s shirt Ronon felt the heat of his body. It was like holding a fire. Dex let go, placing his palms to the wall at the both sides of Sheppard’s shoulders.  
  
"That’s better," Sheppard commented. "Now tell me – why? I understand why Colonel Everett did it! I’m not exactly a Christmas present. I’m… _inconvenient_ like a very large dick in a very narrow ass. The colonel just wanted to tame me. But you… You were my friend!"  
  
"I’m still your friend," Dex said quietly.  
  
"How could you say that? After all you had done to me… Why, Ronon, why?"  
  
"I cannot explain. I asked Colonel Everett, and he… he told me that it was your helplessness that made me behave the way I did."  
  
"And you believed him?"  
  
"Yes. Otherwise I wouldn’t know how to live with myself."  
  
"You saw me helpless before."  
  
"Not the way you were on that table."  
  
Sheppard lowered his gaze. "Fine. It just means I must stay strong in your presence at all times. Get off me!" And John pushed Dex away. "Now. I’m going to take a shower. And unless you enjoy the sight of my naked butt, which I doubt you do, you’ll wait for me here. That’s an order. Next we’re gonna go for our evening run. And I have a feeling I’m gonna _outrun_ you today."  
  
"Not if I fuck you first," it was some uncertainty in Dex’s voice.  
  
"True. But you not gonna do it." Sheppard smiled brightly and walked into his quarters. The door whooshed shut behind him.


	5. The Sum of Parts - 3

  
“Then the little pieces of brain which had been cut out were put away to think their little thoughts quietly somewhere among the garbage, and what was left inside the split–open scull of the gaunt individual was sealed back up and left to think up an entirely new personality.”

“…he is born again and not of woman. I baptize thee in the name of the Big Twitch, the Little Twitch, and the Holy Ghost. Who, no doubt, is a Twitch too.”

Robert Penn Warren  
______________________________________

  
  
  
Elizabeth felt as if she was lifted by a hurricane. It carried her full circle and slammed her into the wall, then it grabbed her head and planted a big kiss upon her mouth. She tried to order herself to push him away, but all she could do was to prevent her body from grabbing him, arms and legs, and covering his face with bites and kisses.  
  
She pulled away only when she was short of breath.  
  
“Are you drunk, Major?”  
  
“Resigned,” said Sheppard, not letting her go. “A little.”  
  
“It’s not two o’clock yet.”  
  
“I’ve been drinking since 8 am,” he said proudly. “And a bottle of champagne never hurt anyone.”  
  
“Champagne?”  
  
“Tomorrow is my first day on a job in four months. And I have three more bottles to go,” Sheppard said and sniffed her hair. “I know that you wanted it from day one. Tomorrow you’ll be my boss again, and it’ll be _unethical_ ,” he giggled at the word, “for us to… you know. So if you have a minute today – come and join me.”  
  
With those words he let her go, turned and walked away with the dancing gait of a healthy animal.  
  
Elizabeth watched him go, her back still against the wall, trying to understand what exactly did she feel. Triumph? Or was she angry, insulted, and hurt? Then she understood. It was _fear_. She was afraid of the beast which cornered her in the empty corridor. The creature which looked so much like John Sheppard, but wasn’t him.  
  
***  
  
They walked into the mess hall – two guards and the tall lanky man with long ashy hair, tied into a ponytail at the back of his head. He had a tattoo around one eye – it looked as if somebody had drawn two dark-purple commas on his forehead above his left eyebrow, and their mirror reflection crossing his cheekbone.  
  
The man would be beautiful, with his soft, well balanced moves, and clear-cut features of his alabaster face, precise as if cast in silver, if not for expression of sad confusion in his lynx-yellow eyes.  
  
Ronon made a low growl, and tried to get up from his seat, but Sheppard, who was sitting across the table, grabbed on one of his dreads.  
  
“Sheppard, you’re putting _grease_ in my hair,” Dex looked at the other man, carefully trying to pull his head free.  
  
“It’ll look more ethnic,” Sheppard noted, then bent his own head towards him. “Put some in mine. But sit, and don’t spoil the show!”  
  
***  
  
“Oh, for the love of…” said Kitten, looking at the hall entrance. “Blasted things are insane”.  
  
She motioned for the guards to come closer. Tilly made scary eyes. She kept pointing at the spot in front of her table. ‘No,’ the Marine mouthed. _‘Yes,’_ said her stare, _‘Want to argue with me, little one?’_  
  
“You want to get me court-martialed?” Tilly whispered angrily, when the guards and their charge stopped in front of her table.  
  
“Get lost,” said the woman not taking her eyes from the tattooed man.  
  
“Should I know you?” the man asked in uncertain voice. “They say I lost my memory.”  
  
“You knew me, all right,” the woman gave him a lopsided grin. “Called me every dirty word too. I think you even invented a few for that sole purpose.” She chuckled. “Didn’t know your kind can.”  
  
“I’m… sorry,” the man offered.  
  
“I am. You see…”  
  
“Kitten, stop it!” Tilly’s voice was close to scream. “You don’t care about me – fine! But you’re signing _his_ death warrant.”  
  
“Get the fuck lost,” Kitten looked him right in the eyes. “If somebody would turn you, twenty nine year old walking heart attack, into five year old Down girl, and tossed you in the ward with the same Down girls, because it’s what all that… _scum,_ ” she pointed at the hall, “really is in comparison with,” and she pointed at tattooed man, “What would you want me to do? Leave you there, or try to pull you out, even if it’d mean to risk killing you in the process? Well?”  
  
Tilly bit his lip and looked away.  
  
The woman got up from her seat and hugged herself, as if cold, looking at the tattooed man.  
  
“You see,” she continued softly. “I’m a very _small_ creature. The every instinct of my body pushes me to lurk in shadows, to pull the strings from behind the curtain. Never, ever fight in the open. But if no one else would… or could – I should’ve. But I didn’t. Because it was _inconvenient_ ,” she spat the word. “…at the time. For which I’m deeply sorry.”  
  
“You saved two lives,” Tilly said quietly.  
  
“No, I didn’t. Uncle did exactly what he wanted, and make no mistake about it. And it’s not the point, anyway.”  
  
“I don’t understand,” the tattooed man whispered.  
  
It was such a pain to look in those innocent yellow eyes, such a _shame_ , that Kitten grimaced. “Give me your hand.” She put her hands to the table surface, and jumped a little, and sat on her knees on the table, reaching out for him.  
  
“What you think you’re doing, lass?” Beckett was standing right next to the table.  
  
“What I should’ve done four months ago,” Kitten responded softly.  
  
It was something in her eyes, something so utterly insane – snakes playing in dry leaves on a warm spring morning – that Tilly put his hand at the side of her head, not letting her look at Carson. _Hate me,_ said his expression. _I can handle it._  
  
“Do you really think, _Doctor_ ,” that last word came out as a sneer, “that those fascists who experimented on POWs during WWII were toothy monsters with claws? Not at all. They were sweet, soft spoken, well educated, and they smiled a lot, too. Oh, those sad, companionate smiles,” she giggled.  
  
“Lassie,” Beckett gave her a pained look.  
  
Tilly was scared. The woman’s face was a color of wax now, with two feverish triangular patches on her cheekbones, her hazel eyes were black and empty, like two oiled pebbles.  
  
“Kitten, he isn’t worth it!”  
  
“Him? You silly little thing! Me. I’m a fascist, Tilly. I just sat there and _did nothing_!” She held out her hand to the tattooed man again. “Give me your hand!”  
  
The man didn’t move. She bent forward, and grabbed his hand, and pulled on her t–shirt collar with her other hand, and smacked the man’s palm against her bare skin.  
  
His fingers lay almost on her throat, but it was so much like his dreams, his visions, he hissed in terror and tried to pull away. But the woman was clinging on his hand like a tick, and the only thing he succeeded with was to pull her, sliding on her knees, to his side of the table.  
  
***  
  
It was darkness behind him, it was a wall of fire right in front of him, an arm length away. The wall of fire the size of a galaxy, alive, moving, self-conscious. It was as if he was floating right above the surface of a living star. He thought if he could just… grab this fire and make it his.  
  
 _“What is your name?_ ” the fire roared and echoes boomed against the distant constellations.  
  
“Name?” he laughed, triggering another staccato of echoes, “I have no name!”  
  
***  
  
 _I have no name…_  
  
The man shook his hand, then look at his palm in confusion, then up at the woman, who was still sitting on the table.  
  
“Am I a…”  
  
“Don’t call yourself _that_ ,” Kitten smiled. “That’s a human word for your kind.”  
  
“What is the right one?”  
  
“You told me it’s not a speak–word anymore.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“It’s a virus. A _disease_ , that was intentionally given to you. It just… grabbed ninety nine percent of what was ‘you’ and threw it in the garbage.”  
  
***  
  
“Get down from that table.” There was a flat determination in Everett’s voice.  
  
“Go to hell, uncle.” Kitten didn’t even look at him.  
  
“I’m not trying to stop you. It’s too late, anyway,” he gave the white–haired man, who was still studying his palms, a disgusted look. “But it’s not the reason for you to sit on the _dining_ table.”  
  
“You’re right,” Kitten chuckled, and jumped down, and grabbed on the table behind her back, to steady herself on her not very steady legs. “Good move, uncle. Good move. But I’m not playing. I have no cards left. I made a _mistake_. I need him, uncle. I need him _back_. If you kill him now, after all this… you are not my family anymore.”  
  
“And you’re saying you have _no cards_ ,” Everett grinned, and grabbed her chin, and tried to look her in the eyes. “Are you _drunk_? You promised never touch the stuff again!”  
  
“I _miscalculated_ , you idiot. I’m dying. I lived like Nazi for last four months. I don’t want to die Nazi. Is it too much to ask?”  
  
Everett said nothing, looking at her hand, scratching, scratching, scratching his chest, not realizing that she was trying to grab his shirt, and didn’t have a power to close her fingers.  
  
Strange, but the Wraith was the only one who understood what’s going to happen. He twisted from the guard’s hands, and dived down, and caught the woman, before her unconscious body hit the floor. He curled around her, as if trying to cover her from the rest of the world.  
  
Everett went for his gun, and realized that he couldn’t pull it out of the holster. _That lazy butt has a strong grip,_ the colonel noted with flicker of admiration.  
  
“So now you’re raising your hand against your commanding officer?” he smiled mirthlessly.  
  
“No, sir,” Tilly let go, both of his hands palms up above the Wraith and the woman in hopeless attempt to protect them. “He is helping her. I can’t do that – none of us can.”  
  
The Wraith was chanting something softly, swaying side to side, bumping into Everett’s knees.  
  
“What’s wrong with her?” the colonel growled, looking at Beckett. “Is she sick? She’s never been sick!”  
  
“I just went through her lab logs – she modified the retrovirus and injected herself with it. I didn’t know. I didn’t authorize that.”  
  
“I bet you didn’t,” it was unclear what sort of emotion was behind those calm words, in that calculating stare. “Why did she do that?”  
  
 _Because she is more insane than you are?_ Beckett wanted to say. “That we wouldn’t have to experiment on… real Wraith? I don’t know,” he shrugged, name, after name, after name passing in front of his eyes.  
  
Names of those who stepped into Eternity as Doctors. As Scientists. And who at different times and in so many words repeated the same one thing: _“The only intelligent subject you can try your inventions on is yourself”._  
  
***  
  
“Enough of this! People _eat_ at this place,” Dex growled, yanked his head free and walked toward the commotion.  
  
John thought, trotting after him, that the big guy would be overturning tables if they’d happened on his way.  
  
“No, master Dex.” There was no threat on that cute sun–burned face. There was no threat in relaxed, lazy posture. But Sheppard suddenly thought that the Marine’s hair was the exact same color as a hair of the kneeling Wraith. “One more step and I’ll fight you. You’ll probably win, but you wouldn’t want to come any closer after _that_.”  
  
***  
  
The large leather couch in Everett’s quarters now hosted unconscious body of his niece. The Wraith was kneeling in front of the couch, his face pressed tightly to the woman’s stomach.  
  
“Is it safe, doctor?” Everett wore an expression of mild disgust on his face. “I don’t want the bastard to grow fangs and claws in here.”  
  
“It will be at least 24 hours before the first signs of reversion. The full transformation will take a couple days.”  
  
“Good. Hey, you!” Everett looked at the Wraith’s back. “Don’t you shed on my furniture!”  
  
The Wraith slowly, meticulously, with both hands checked if all of his tresses are were safely packed into the ponytail.  
  
Everett observed him sadly. “Are you sure you wouldn’t change your mind?”  
  
The Wraith said nothing and didn’t move.  
  
“Oh, well,” the colonel shrugged. “You’re toast, buddy. Doctor, something to drink?” And he opened the bar.  
  
It had _everything_ in there. Beckett gasped.  
  
“I have some Scotch. Good stuff, too.” Everett reached for a glass and poured a decent shot. “Doctor?”  
  
“Thank you, colonel, I’m on duty,” Carson was observing the contents of the bar with great concern on his face.  
  
The colonel looked at the shot he just poured. “Well, and I don’t drink…”  
  
“Scotch?” a weak voice came from the couch. “Why do you even keep that shit?”  
  
Everett rolled his eyes.  
  
“You’re not going to pour it into the sink, I hope?” the woman asked. “Can poor condemned to death prisoners have it instead?”  
  
“You shouldn’t _drink_.” Everett looked at her. The woman’s eyes were closed.  
  
“It’s not what’s going to kill me. So can we have our last drink before being executed?”  
  
Everett growled, grabbed the glass and walked to the couch. He smacked it on the woman’s stomach, propping it against the Wraith’s head. “Here! And no one is going to execute you. _Either_ of you,” he added firmly.  
  
The woman’s hand clutched the glass with blind precision. “Want some?” She bumped the glass against the Wraith’s head.  
  
The white–haired man raised his head and sniffed the contents of a glass. And snorted, almost jumping away, disgust on his face. Then he buried his face back in the woman’s stomach.  
  
“Yeah,” said the woman. “That’s a single malt for you. Stinks like hell. Why uncle wouldn’t bring something simple and beautiful? Like Chivas Regal. No, never. That show off. Cheers,” she bumped the glass against the Wraith’s head once again.  
  
“She shouldn’t drink,” Everett whispered to Carson. “She’s an alcoholic.”  
  
“She works with ethanol every day,” the doctor whispered back.  
  
“I didn’t say she has a weak character. I said she’s an alcoholic. It’s… _genotype_.”  
  
Malt or no malt, but it was beautiful. Kitten didn’t feel that good in ages! That warm, and content, and… warm. _Fire walk with me._ The world around her was full of colors again, and totally devoid of smells, her ears were pounding, and her head was spinning.  
  
The Wraith felt as if he was lying on a barely crusted surface of a lava field. The fire breathed, and moved under that thin crust, in search for the ways to break free.  
  
“I have a dream…” Kitten whispered, and coughed, and laughed – dry, brittle sound - and patted the Wraith on the head. “I never thought I’d say those words. It’s such a hypocrisy in my world. But here, it this galaxy, those words are true! Imagine… just collect all that’s left in your head and think – your people are _free_. Your kind can touch Infinity with bare hands! Instead of wasting all that magnificence on hunting the human garbage! Think of it! Just think of it, you empty headed, white haired silly creature. Think of it…”  
  
The Wraith put his head to one side and was looking at her out of his long, strange, yellow eyes.  
  
***  
  
The woman stood quietly at the cell entrance, the razor–thin laptop in her hand. She raised her hand a little and let it fall, laptop hit the side of her leg with a soft ‘toop’ sound.  
  
The prisoner in the cage opened his eyes and made a move to stand up.  
  
“No, no, no,” the woman grimaced. “You’re barely breathing as it is.”  
  
The prisoner smiled a little and stayed put. No one would recognize the man he was a couple of days ago in the creature – glossy skin, sharp talons, slits on both sides of the nose. Only the tattoo – two commas above the left eyebrow, two more across the cheekbone – stayed the same.  
  
“Now you remember me,” the woman said, and tried to smile, and it looked as if she grimaced again. “How I just sat there and did _nothing_.”  
  
“Yes,” the prisoner whispered and his whisper rustled in little snakes along the gray concrete floor. “And how you put your head on my stomach to ease my pain, when you thought no one was looking.”  
  
It was a moment of awkward silence. “I thought you were unconscious.”  
  
“You need not to be embarrassed of your kindness,” the prisoner continued softly.  
  
“Kindness my ass! You’re dying and it’s all my fault! I don’t even know why I saved that loser. He’s just one useless pile of trash.”  
  
“It is not your fault. It is not a fault at all. It is all part of greater order of things.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“We look at the world, and find things to be cruel and unjust, but it is not so. There are creatures for whom our minds are no more complicated than minds of insects for us, and there are creatures above them, and so on, the infinite number of levels. And no one possesses the final knowledge, only the part available for his level. May be on some level the fact that I will die and he will live has a meaning. We just don’t know what that meaning is.”  
  
“Bull. Death has no meaning! You die – you lose. You die and your journey is over!”  
  
“Let me take a look,” the Wraith smiled again. “At your data. May be I’ll find the mistake.”  
  
“You don’t understand. I have _nothing_ to offer you in return.”  
  
“You cannot help me, but I can help you. May be that was my purpose in this world? May be that will give my death a meaning?”  
  
“You don’t understand!” the woman moaned. “The threat to chuck him out of the family was my last trump. I used it up. Now if even I killed him they wouldn’t let you go!”  
  
“Your uncle loves you,” said the Wraith with that little smile of his.  
  
“Oh, what do _you_ know about love?” the woman retorted.  
  
“My kind lives long lives, we know many things. Let me take a look. You brought… the computer with you. You anticipated I will offer my help.”  
  
The woman frowned, saying nothing.  
  
“You want to be one of my kind,” the Wraith continued. “You can start from avoiding _untruths_. Lies are permitted, _untruths_ are not.”  
  
“Semantics.” The woman walked to the cage and placed the laptop on the floor, close to the bars, close enough for him to take it without moving. Then she turned off the force–field.  
  
The Wraith pulled the computer in, and opened it, and looked through the data for a while in dead silence. “Could you put the wall… field back on? Presence of your life–force is very distracting.”  
  
***  
  
“There is no mistake,” the Wraith closed the laptop.  
  
“Right! I feel like shit, my vitals are all over the place…”  
  
“It is expected. It is part of becoming a different being. Believe me, I know.”  
  
“But my vitals are nothing like yours!”  
  
“It is expected too.” He gave her a yellow stare full of a gentle mock.  
  
Kitten narrowed her eyes. “Why?”  
  
Wraith’s quiet laughter was like a sound of dry palm dragged against the rough concrete wall. “I’m not a _female_.”  
  
The woman blinked.  
  
“One day you will make a great Queen.”  
  
“To have thousand boys for my sex–needs at my disposal?” Kitten thought about it, her eyebrows moving up and down. “Sounds promising. Nah… I guess you can screw a cap on that one. Means – I’m inclined to decline. Better tell me – how long will you live? McKay says he’ll build the machine, but he needs time. Two months at least.”  
  
“Not that long. I will live a week. May be ten days.”  
  
Kitten scratched the back of her head. “You know what? I almost never fight on the open, but I never _stop_ fighting. There’s a slim chance I’ll pull you out of this. But you must trust me, like you never trusted anyone before.”  
  
***  
  
“Sir?” Tilly, blindfolded, his hands cuffed behind his back, was walking alongside his CO.  
  
Everett tightened his grip on the Marine’s arm above the elbow, saying nothing.  
  
“Sir, did I do something wrong?”  
  
“Yes,” the colonel was silent for a while, then he growled, “When you fell for that crazy bitch, my niece.”  
  
“I was just carrying out your orders…”  
  
“You _carried_ them too far. Your orders were to fuck her, not to get emotionally involved with her. Brainless fuck!” the colonel suddenly exploded. “She treats you like a dirty rug and you let her!”  
  
The whack on the back of the Marine’s head was so powerful that Tilly ran a couple steps, then stopped in the middle of the corridor, disoriented in his blindfolded darkness.  
  
Everett walked to him and took a hold on his arm above the elbow again, “Walk!”  
  
***  
  
“Give me that,” said Everett, grabbing P90 from one of the guards. “Dismissed.”  
  
Two Marines at the brig entrance gave their commander a surprised look, but said nothing and left.  
  
“Brought a little snack for you,” Everett announced, walking into the cell.  
  
The prisoner in the corner of the cage raised his head, then slowly got to his feet, his long leather outfit rustling against the floor.  
  
“Oh, my god,” Tilly whispered, his lips going gray. “Sir, please, no.” He suddenly jerked his sleeve from Everett’s hand and jumped back, to the wall.  
  
“Yes,” Everett said with satisfaction, and moved the weapon from one hand to another.  
  
The next second his fist connected with the Marine’s forehead. Tilly, who couldn’t see it coming, couldn’t soften the blow. His head collided with the wall, and his half unconscious body would have slid to the floor, if Everett hadn’t grabbed him by the shoulder.  
  
The colonel dragged the swaying Marine to the control panel.  
  
“If Kitten finds out…” Tilly whispered.  
  
“Don’t make me _laugh_! It was her idea,” Everett scoffed and opened the cage, pointing his P90 at the Wraith’s direction.  
  
He shoved Tilly on the floor of the cage, backed away and turned the force–field back on.  
  
“Bon appétit,” he sneered and left the cell.  
  
Tilly couldn’t see, but he heard how the Wraith drew a deep breath, then a quiet rustle of the Wraith’s leather garment. The Marine whimpered and tried to get to his feet.  
  
“Don’t move,” a low voice rasped. “Don’t _breathe_.”  
  
***  
  
“I don’t believe it!” Everett said with dissatisfaction half an hour later. “How did you do that, woman?”  
  
Tilly, visibly intact, was lying on his side by the door of the cage. The Wraith was crouching in the very corner.  
  
Kitten grabbed her uncle’s wrist and looked at his watch.  
  
“It’s time. Open the cage.”  
  
The old Marine opened the cage, pulled Tilly out, and closed the cage back. He hauled the man to his feet and removed the blindfold. “Now look her in the eyes and say ‘thank you’.” One could kill half of the city with poison in his voice.  
  
Tilly tried to obey – he walked to Kitten, and said ‘thank you’. Her body was so close, he could feel her warmth.  
  
But she was so much shorter, and she wasn’t looking at him, so he couldn’t see her eyes.  
  
She wasn’t looking at him, but her hand, her warm hand, went across his chest in an unconscious, jerky motion – pushing, and poking, to see if he was really there, if he was really alive. Then that hand went to his side, and under his elbow, and thin sharp fingers dug into the flesh of his arm, into the bruises left by the colonel’s grip, making him wince.  
  
From behind his shoulder, so her uncle wouldn’t see it, the woman glanced at the Wraith, and Tilly saw her lips mouthed a silent ‘thank you’. Tilly wanted to look back, to see the Wraith’s reaction, but he didn’t.  
  
Kitten eased her hold on his elbow, and slowly moved to the other side of his body, her body – hot and feverish – sliding against his, as if pushing itself between him and an invisible wall. Her hand found its way under his other elbow, and sharp strong fingers dug into his flesh again.  
  
“Say it,” she whispered.  
  
“How did you do that, woman?” Everett looked from the Wraith to her and back. “Hey, you! Why didn’t you eat the boy?”  
  
“He was the only one who treated me like a person,” the Wraith rasped.  
  
Everett looked at his niece with a great suspicion. “You _talked_ him into this!”  
  
“Yeah. I talked starving Wraith into not eating a human. Enough, uncle. Say it.”  
  
“All right,” Everett rolled his eyes. “You won.”  
  
***  
  
Sheppard stopped in the middle of the long, empty, dusky corridor. He shivered, and shook his head like a horse attacked by mosquitoes.  
  
 _What I wanted to prove and for whom? That I still can be with a woman? Why the fuck not! I’m not sick._  
  
All went well, of course. And Sheppard still believed that sex was a fine activity. But he couldn’t shake away the awkwardness of the entire event. Those short glances Elizabeth gave to his scarred wrists and his tattoo. Oh, she didn’t say anything, so polite, so unpresumptuous. John wanted to scream and punch the wall. He remembered how she avoided looking him in the eyes, and shivered again, realizing that she wasn’t disgusted. She was plain _scared._ But he… oh, god… Sheppard felt dirtier now than during any of the events of his imprisonment. At least then he didn’t have a choice.  
  
 _Now what? Go and apologize? ‘Sorry I had sex with you?’_  
  
An adrenaline rush always asks repayment in hard cash of fatigue. The spring of all his crazy leaps, which slowly wound up during the past month, now unwound and hit Sheppard square in the face. How many people had he abused in weeks of his freedom? To heck with Everett’s boys, but the others… It wasn’t them who did it to him.  
  
He stood for a while in that corridor, his palms against the wall, then rubbed his face and looked around, trying to figure out where his mindless wanderings took him. Not far from the labs… Shit! He never apologized to Rodney for that ‘I love you’. John made a face. Well, he could just stop by and do it now.  
  
***  
  
Dr. McKay was laughing. John never heard him laugh like that – freely, without any hint of a sarcastic sneer.  
  
Sheppard walked quietly along the benches cramped with equipment, then stole a peek between some wire–covered box and the large dark monitor.  
  
Rodney was laughing and pointing at the laptop screen. From his position John couldn’t see _why_ the scientist was laughing, but he could see for _whom_. The camouflage–clad, sun–burned, white–haired and gray eyed ‘smile–to–all’ was perched on the desk behind Rodney. The Marine’s expression was very uncertain, but he carefully watched the screen above Rodney’s shoulder.  
  
“No, you just look at those idiots,” McKay exclaimed, and hit a couple keys on the keyboard. Then he reached into his desk door, pulled out a chocolate bar, broke it in two, and absentmindedly poked one half into the space above his shoulder. The Marine bent forward and took the gift without saying a word. Rodney hit the keys again and continued laughing with the mouthful of chocolate.  
  
Tilly glanced at his half–chocolate, a sudden guilt on his face.  
  
***  
  
“Get on your knees and put your hands on the top of your head, where I can see them.”  
  
When the intruder obeyed, Colonel Everett reached out and turned on the light on his bed-stand.  
  
“What the fuck are you doing in my bedroom?” he asked rather calmly.  
  
Sheppard said nothing.  
  
“Now, very slowly, with your left hand, pull your shirt from your pants and turn around.”  
  
“I’m not armed,” Sheppard said quietly, obeying the order.  
  
“Good.” The colonel opened the drawer of his bed-stand, pulled a pair of cuffs and threw them on the floor at Sheppard’s knees. “Cuff your hands behind your back. Good. Two more clicks on your left hand, one more on the right. Good. Now let me repeat the question: what’re you doing here?”  
  
“Insomnia,” Sheppard stared at him without a smile, narrowing his eyes against the light.  
  
“That only explains why you’re not in _your_ bed. It doesn’t explain why you’re almost in _mine_.”  
  
“Do you mind?”  
  
For a while Everett looked at the dead-serious face of his former prisoner, unable to wrap his brain around the words he just heard. Finally he coughed.  
  
“I knew that insanity runs in families, but I never thought it to be sexually transmitted. What the heck is _wrong_ with you, boy?”  
  
Sheppard didn’t say anything, just looked aside, away from the lamp-light.  
  
“All right. I’m changing conditions of your parole. From now on you’ll sleep in your cell. Sneaking up on me like that…” Everett placed the gun on the bed-stand, then got up and put on his gown – floor-length, dark-blue, rich thing with tassels on the sash. Then he dropped the cuff-keys into his pocket and grabbed Sheppard by the shoulder. “On your feet, and walk.”  
  
***  
  
“So you just gonna lock me up?” said Sheppard, and turned to see the colonel.  
  
“It was never about sex, you know,” Everett shrugged.  
  
John thought he’d be scared to be back in the cell. But instead he felt blinding fury, disappointment, betrayal.  
  
“I’ve called you every dirty word I knew, but I never thought you were a _coward_.”  
  
Then the world around him went black, with lazy little sparkles swirling in the darkness. John felt the blood trickling from his nose, from the split lip, down his chin. Then pain arrived to stay.  
  
“Sheppard, you’re a certified _moron_ ,” Everett stated calmly. “I never trashed you before, but now I think I should’ve. Good I woke up when you started to scratch on my door. If I’d opened my eyes when you were already in my room, you’d be lying there, on the floor, with a bullet in your stupid head. I don’t care about you, but think of the paperwork!”  
  
John saw that the colonel smiling at him, not unkindly.  
  
“Turn around.” Everett unlocked the cuffs and put them in the pocket of his gown. “It’s 2 am now, and I’m dead tired. I’ll come to fuck you in the morning. Just don’t expect any miracles, I am an old man. That stuff that makes you play for six hours in a row – I’m off it. It can make you impotent in no time. And I took the boys off it too, since we don’t have any… large project to work on anymore.”  
  
***  
  
Colonel Everett was sitting on the prisoner’s cot. Sheppard crouched between Everett’s knees – such familiar, comforting position – and went on unbuttoning, unzipping the colonel’s pants.  
  
“Wait, boy,” Everett made a face. “Let’s talk.”  
  
Sheppard didn’t answer. Without looking up, he rested his forearms on the colonel’s lap, and put his forehead on the top of them. ‘ _Be my guest,_ ’ said his entire posture.  
  
Everett coughed. “Did you get any sleep?”  
  
“No.”  
  
The colonel raised his hand uncertainly, and put it down, then changed his mind again and pulled on the tiny pony-tail at the back of Sheppard’s head.  
  
“You’re starting to look like those guys from McKay’s lab. Get a proper hair-cut.”  
  
“Yes, sir. Today, sir,” said Sheppard without moving his head.  
  
They were silent for a while.  
  
“Ahem…” Everett began again. “I don’t even know where to begin. Don’t you think that what you’re wishing for is, well, _wrong_?”  
  
Sheppard shrugged.  
  
“It would be easier for somebody with Kate’s education to talk to you about all this,” the colonel continued.  
  
“I doubt Dr. Heightmeyer has your experience, sir.”  
  
Everett felt the warmth of Sheppard’s words against his thigh. “I reckon not. All right. What I wanted to say is that… a body which has a lot of sex, and a body which has no sex have completely different chemistry. And transition from one state to another could be as painful as withdrawal from drug abuse. The thing that you're feeling now might be simply…”  
  
“Then I would crawl back during the first week of my parole, not a month later.”  
  
“Another thing – I took away your freedom, and now, when you got it back, you don’t know what to do with it. Some people prefer to live in jail.”  
  
Sheppard snorted without raising his head. “Did it happen before?”  
  
“You mean did I ever took somebody and made him mine? Yes. I made Marsh like that. We were both lieutenants, when he agreed to go hiking with me. Instead he spent two very interesting weeks in the basement of Kitten’s father’s house. She and her mother were away, but I think the old man knew. May be that’s why he was always so considered with Marsh. I guessed Marsh right – by the end of the first week he liked what I was doing to him. By the end of the second week he decided to stay with me.”  
  
“You got lucky. Otherwise you’d get a life in jail.”  
  
“Luck had nothing to do with it. I knew who he was. But you’re not gay.”  
  
“May be not. You know, I talked to that Wraith before you… have got rid of him.”  
  
“I let him go. And it seems like he hadn’t sold us out yet.”  
  
 _“What?”_ Sheppard looked up for the first time during the conversation. Then his stare became indifferent again, and he put his forehead back to his forearms. “Whatever. I asked him how it feels to be a human. He said ‘empty’.” John sighed. “I feel _empty_.”  
  
“We’re forgetting about one more possibility,” Everett was staring thoughtfully at the back of Sheppard’s head. “I made you _lose_ , and you hate losing. So I’m the prize you’re trying to win.” Suddenly the colonel grabbed John’s hair and made him look up. “But you know what? You don’t stand a chance. I deliberately didn’t let you get any pleasure with me. Imagine, I would?”  
  
There was no hatred in Sheppard’s eyes, just weariness. He slowly pulled his head free from Everett’s grip, then rose on his knees, took the older man’s head in both hands and made him bend down a little. Then Sheppard kissed him, softly, tenderly, catching the man’s upper lip with his lips.  
  
“Do you despise me because of what you did to me? Because of what your people did to me? Because of what you made me do?”  
  
Everett didn’t hesitate: “No.”  
  
“Do you still hate me?”  
  
“A little.”  
  
“Same here. Do you have a physical attraction for me? Even tiny?”  
  
“May be…”  
  
“That’s enough for a start. Let’s give it a shot.”  
  
Everett looked at him almost helplessly. “All right. By the age of forty you suddenly discovered that boys are your cup of tea. I _believe_ you. But out of everyone here, you chose the _worst_ possible partner. You’d be better off with, I don’t know, McKay. That guy drools like a spaniel just from looking at you.”  
  
“I saw him with Tilly.”  
  
“That Devil’s servant,” Everett snorted. “One little problem – Tilly is as straight as they come.”  
  
“I _saw_ them,” Sheppard said stubbornly.  
  
“Of course you _saw_ them, you’re not blind. That blond beast was just fishing for something. And if you want my guess – not even for himself. My niece is _insane_ , and like all insane people she is full of insane ideas. Like a Wraith-feeding machine. Funny thing is – she is clever, but not _smart_. So when it comes to building an actual machine around the idea, she gets stuck with her mediocre intelligence. Then she crawls into somebody’s bed, or, like in McKay’s case, delegates Tilly. That’s what you saw. Thus Dr. Brilliance is on a verge of one serious disappointment, and if I were you, I’d exploit that opportunity. With McKay you’d have a chance for a normal relationship. With me you will always be _on the receiving end_. Also I’m unfaithful and madly possessive. I always slept, sleep and will sleep with every asshole that comes my way. But once I put a gun to Marsh’s head just for _looking_ at boys. He was judge in some competition; he couldn’t do it with his eyes closed. But I flipped out. I actually almost killed him that day. If you’ll stay with me, there is a good chance I’ll beat the crap out of you every time you talked to McKay.”  
  
“We’re both adults,” said Sheppard. “It’s not as if you’re seducing some underage kid. As for beating the crap, there is a good chance I’m stronger than you are. Sir.”  
  
“Oh, well,” the older man sighed. “Then let’s get busy – it’s almost eight already, and I have a meeting at nine-thirty.”  
  
***  
  
John was sitting in the nest made out of pillows and comforters on Everett’s bed, reading some rather large volume.  
  
Everett, who was working by his desk, yawned, stretched, took his glasses off, folded them accurately and placed them into the desk door.  
  
“Well, boy, it’s time for you to go to your cell.”  
  
“Why?” Sheppard kept reading. “This bed is big enough for two.”  
  
“I’m tired and not in the mood for an argument.”  
  
“Do you still think I’m conspiring to strangle you in your sleep?”  
  
“That seems logical.”  
  
“Come on! I don’t need _darkness_ to make an attempt on your life.”  
  
“True. It’s just… my body will not be able to sleep if… somebody is around.”  
  
“You mean you _never_ trusted anyone enough to sleep with them in the same bed? In the same room? Not even…” Sheppard fell silent, staring at the colonel’s back in disbelief.  
  
Everett slowly moved his head, not looking at him.  
  
“Now, that’s gonna change,” Sheppard jumped from the bed and left the room.  
  
***  
  
John was back in fifteen minutes, triumphantly dropped bunch of thick leader belts on the bed, and went to the shower. Soon he reappeared with wet, dripping hair and wearing only pajama pants.  
  
Everett stared at him with mild annoyance.  
  
“What? I borrowed some restraints from the infirmary. Those were good enough to keep Beckett’s research specimen down. If you don’t mind sleeping on the belt – let’s give it a try.”  
  
Sheppard attached the belt to the bed-frame, then lay down on his back, straightened his pillow and looked up at the older man. “Now, put my hands into the restraints, and I’ll be unable to do anything _hostile_. At least not without waking you up.”  
  
Everett looked at all the preparations with doubtful expression on his face. Then he wrapped the padded cuffs around Sheppard’s wrists, and buckled them tightly. Next he checked how safe the belt was attached to the bed-frame.  
  
Sheppard rolled his eyes: “I didn’t _cheat_.”  
  
“Shouldn’t you be scared or something?” There was uncertainty in Everett’s voice.  
  
“Of _what_?” John tried not to smile. “That you’d take an advantage of my helplessness and sexually assault me? It was a long day, sir. I don’t keep my hopes up.”  
  
***  
  
Colonel Everett couldn’t close his eyes anyway.  
  
Sheppard next to him was muttering something in his sleep. He tried to change position, but restraints kept him pinned on his back.  
  
Everett sighed, then reached with his hand and carefully unbuckled the cuff, trying not to wake the boy up. Sheppard mumbled something again, and rolled over, away from him, curled on his side.  
  
Everett looked at John’s bony shoulders, a dragon-sharp row of the vertebrae running down his back toward the Marine brand, half-covered with pants. The colonel thought of how _vulnerable_ that six-foot-two murdering machine looked, how defenseless, how small. Barely larger than a cat.


	6. The Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very grateful to Manty (grammar_glamour) for editing this chapter.

“We were bound together forever and I could never hate him without hating myself or love myself without loving him.”

Robert Penn Warren  
_________________________________________________  
Fire, walk with me.

TP  
______________

  
  
Sheppard grabbed the chair, turned it back first, clearly marking a foot or so between the chair and the table. Then he sat down, rested his forearms on the chair back and gave the woman on the other side of the table an apprising look.  
  
“Feeling better?”  
  
That was cruel. Nothing was left of her but a skeleton covered with gray skin, wrapped in some shapeless baggy clothes. Her hair was matted, and hung over her face in uneven strands. Her hand, propping the large volume in vertical position, was like a sparrow claw.   
  
Kitten gave him a _look_. If she would wear glasses, it would obviously be a ‘look above glasses’ – indifferent, with touch of annoyance and disdain.  
  
“Still gonna go through with your little plan?” Sheppard asked cheerfully. “Scared?”  
  
 _‘Wouldn’t you be?’_ was in her eyes. “Do me a favor, don’t use inner-city idioms while conversing with me.”   
  
“Nerd,” John showed his teeth a broadest of smiles.  
  
Kitten gave him another ‘above glasses’ look and said in rather level voice: “What I like about you, Major, it’s your _durability._ I thought I’m signing your death warrant with those hundred and twenty days, but all your troubles roll from you like water from a goose.”  
  
“Resigned,” Sheppard smiled again. “So don’t call me that.”  
  
“I hope you don’t expect me to call you a _cousin_ , or something?” She put her nose back into the book.  
  
“Why not? The colonel says I’m _family._ ”  
  
The woman snorted: “Snowball _two_.”   
  
A smile left Sheppard’s face. He sat for a while, quiet. Then he sighed. “In a couple weeks you’ll be as good as gone. He will stay all alone.”  
  
“Oh, don’t you worry about uncle. He’ll find some…” she didn’t finish.  
  
“…asshole,” Sheppard finished the sentence for her. “May be I am. May be I’m nothing but a whore – I’ve been told that so many times during the last couple of months, I’m starting to believe it myself. But I know we’re good together. It’s… _easier_ for him when I’m around.”  
  
She kept reading. Sheppard looked at the book, propped in vertical position by the sparrow claw. _Robert Penn Warren_ , ran on the cover. _All the king’s men._ Dozens of bookmarks were sticking between the pages – bits of torn paper, brownish–gray blades of dry grass. John wondered where she got that grass – he didn’t remember her going through the Gate, or leaving for Mainland. And then it downed to him – bookmarks were _old_. She was reading that book over, and over, and over again.   
  
It was _Earth grass_.   
  
He wanted to touch those brittle, fragile blades so much it hurt. But then he thought how disgusted the woman would be if he tried… and realized she’s looking at him.  
  
Kitten closed the book, finger between the pages, marking the place, and pushed it toward him along the table surface. “You can touch them if you want.”  
  
Sheppard reached with his hand and brushed his little finger across the bookmarks, just once.  
  
“Last time I read it I was at the Cape Cod.”  
  
John thought that he couldn’t quite picture her on the beach, and looked up, and understood – yes, he could. Not famished and exhausted, but brown–tan, laughing, tumbling in the sand with that white–haired bastard Tilly.  
  
“You should get a vacation,” the woman spoke softly, and pulled the book toward her again.  
  
“I asked. Request was denied.”  
  
“Weir or uncle?”  
  
“Weir.”  
  
“You should talk to uncle.”  
  
“No.”  
  
The woman snorted. “I’ll talk to him.”   
  
Then she snorted again, this time with practical purpose – like an animal she was testing a smell on the exhale, not on the inhale. “Have you been down uncle’s vaults again?”  
  
“He wouldn’t fuck me for a couple bottles of Bordeaux,” Sheppard wrinkled his nose.  
  
“Pity, isn’t it?” the woman said sarcastically. “Don’t you worry, Major, he’ll fuck you unconditionally. But if he figures out that it was you all alone – he’ll break every bone in your body,” and she put her nose back in the book again.  
  
Sheppard saw she’s not reading, just looking in the book. He smiled: “He doesn’t drink, anyway. It’s ‘use it or lose it’. And let’s have a deal – you call me John, and I’ll share a bottle with you.”  
  
“No way.”  
  
“Cousin?” Sheppard offered.  
  
“No.”  
  
“ _Two_ bottles.”  
  
This time the pause was longer. Sheppard saw how the tip of her nose twitched. In that huge sweater, with her bony paws and twitching nose she looked like an elderly shrew.   
  
“You know, you should really think what you’re missing,” he continued. “Two weeks, three – tops, and it wouldn’t make you _drunk_.”  
  
The woman raised her eyes – narrowed, fierce, wild – the eyes of a creature she was about to become.   
  
Then she held out her left claw – palm down, like all distrustful characters do. “Three bottles, cousin. And I don’t need any help drinking them.”


End file.
